Behemoth 2

by Michael Cole

Forster looked back at the worker, “What is he planning?” The worker shrugged his shoulders.

  “I heard somebody say something about a ‘National Geographic experience in the flesh’; something about feeding the shark. I don’t really know.”

  “I see. Thanks,” Forster said. She started to turn to walk away, but stopped for a moment. “Hey, upstairs, there’s a bunch of water bottles in the employee lounge, in the fridge. Run up and get some for yourself and the others.”

  “I most definitely appreciate that,” the worker said. He happily embraced the air conditioning as he entered the Aquarium Building. Forster then marched over to Felt. He noticed her approaching. He gave his normal, business grin.

  “Hey, Julie! How’s the dolphin doing?” he said.

  “There’s mild improvement, but someone’s gonna have to be with it all night. I’ve already got people scheduled.”

  “Oh, good,” he said. He looked up at Marco. Forster looked up as well, and couldn’t help but notice the noose at the end of the pole, and the red drippings secreting from the edge of the purple plastic tub.

  “What’s going on here?” she asked Felt. She didn’t bother concealing the concern in her voice. Felt maintained his upbeat demeanor, although he was growing anxious inside.

  “We’re putting on a demonstration for our guests,” he said, with the naïve hope that the vague answer would end the questioning. The next question was as he predicted.

  “What demonstration?”

  A brief shudder followed. He brushed it off, pretending to cough.

  Felt mentally berated himself. She’s YOUR employee, idiot. She can disapprove all she wants for all you care. He cleared his throat, then pointed up at Marco.

  “See that tub there next to Marco? There’s some big slabs of beef in there. Got it fresh from the local butcher’s market in town. Marco’s gonna put a slab on the hook at the end of that pole there, and hold it down. Hopefully, we can get the white to breach and grab it. Just like something you’d see on National Geographic.”

  If this were any other person, Forster would be starting a riot. Looking at the equipment, particularly the hydraulic lift…with no safety bars along the table, she knew this was not a proper set up to conduct this type of feeding. Unfortunately, this was her boss, a reality that he preyed on.

  “Mr. Felt, sir,” she said…thinking of a proper way to talk him out of this. “This…this probably won’t work. See, I had instructions for the great white to be fed at 4:30. It probably won’t be hungry.”

  “Oh, I know,” Felt said. “I saw your feeding schedule. So, I just told the aide to not feed it today. So, don’t worry, it’ll be plenty hungry.”

  Forster couldn’t be more worried.

  “Mr. Felt, this thing isn’t a trained circus performer. It’s a wild animal,” she said. “It won’t simply abide by your rules.”

  “Oh, it’ll be fine,” Felt said. “Just a quick show, and it’ll be done. I promise.”

  “Sir, this isn’t a proper setup,” she said. “It’s not as simple as what you watch on TV. To do this properly, we need a crane, or at least a large pulley, from which we can hang the bait over the water without putting someone in danger. Let’s just put the show off for a bit, until we can get the proper equipment.” Felt chuckled.

  “Excuse me, but take a look back there,” he said, pointing his thumb behind him toward the bleachers. She took a brief glance, seeing them packed with guests. “You think I’m gonna tell these people, ‘Hey, folks, sorry. Show’s over,’? Hell no.” There was a sense of urgency in his voice. He knew that if this went well, it could possibly lead to good word-of-mouth reviews of the resort. Anything to boost interest in his business, even the smallest thing, was desperately needed. “This thing is happening. Like I said, it’ll be fine.” Although he maintained his smile and spoke in his usual friendly fashion, Forster could read between the lines. There was nothing more she could do, except nod and hope that nothing went awry.

  Marco knelt at the tub to remove the lid. He noticed Forster watching him. Over the past six months, he’d come to recognize any disapproving body language. He wanted to say something such as, ‘I don’t have any say in this,’ or ‘Felt instructed me to do this.’ He didn’t need to say these things. The doctor was already aware.

  “Just be careful,” she said to him. Marco gave her a thumbs up.

  “You’ve got it, boss,” he said.

  “I’m serious!” she said. Her tone was higher pitched this time. “You don’t have any rail barrier. The shark could easily yank you over the side by accident, so let the pole go if you have to.”

  “Oh, he’ll be fine!” Felt cut in. “Besides, if he ends up in the water and the big guy moves towards him, all he has to do is punch him right in the nose. Everybody knows that.”

  Everybody believes that.

  “Actually, what you want to do is…” she started to correct him by stating the eyes and gills are areas that are more sensitive, but Felt turned and walked to the bleachers, clearly disinterested. Marco lifted the hydraulic table, until it was about eight feet above the dock. He reached into the tub and pulled out a large chunk of beef, which dripped with blood. He tightened the noose around it. As he expected, blood splattered onto his shirt.

  Great. Now looking like the victim in a slasher movie, he waited for Felt to give him the instruction to begin.

  With a good view of the pool, Forster decided to wait until everything was over. The nervous adrenaline caused the drowsiness to temporarily subside. After this was all over, it would come back with a vengeance.

  Mr. Felt grabbed a handheld microphone. He tested it by tapping the round grey end, which echoed a loud thumping noise. The seated audience heard this and quieted their commotion, knowing the show was about to begin.

  ********

  Out in the bay drifted a fishing vessel, the Omega. It was an old boat, with more rust than metal at this point. It wasn’t for lack of funds for repairs and replacements. At least, this was what its captain, Scott Hamilton, claimed. Dressed in a black long sleeve shirt and dirty blue jeans, sporting a Florida Gators ball cap, he stood at the bow deck. He was a skinny man of thirty-nine, although he looked a decade older, and like his close friend Hal Pepper, he favored the bottle. Binoculars were raised to his eyes, pointed toward the aquarium.

  “Hey, I think that’s the chick there that Hal ran into today,” he said.

  “That’s the doctor lady,” his first mate responded from the port quarter deck. Ben Carlton was ten years younger, and a much more muscular fellow; possibly because he did the vast majority of the heavy lifting on the job. He wore no hat to cover his head, and his bald scalp was almost completely red from constant exposure to the sun. He also had binoculars to his eyes, watching the same event. “You think she wrecked his traps?”

  “That’s what Hal told us,” Scott said. “It was her, or somebody from this circus. I tell you, there’s nothing down there that can bust those crates like that.”

  “Should we go in and teach them a lesson?” Ben asked. Scott only responded with a barely audible “hmmm.” Their original goal was to raise hell as a form of retaliation, although they never truly had a plan.

  These two, along with Old Hal, were considered the local low-lives of the island. Good manners and general morality seemed to be absent to this bunch. They cheated buyers when selling their catch to market; they often would make a ruckus at bars, and had no problems using illegal means to catch more fish. Most of the fishing community didn’t have much respect for them, nor did the general population. But with the growing animosity between the community and Felt’s resort, there was hardly any disapproval toward whatever discord these agitators caused toward the workers.

  “Let’s wait a bit,” Scott said. He had watched the fellow on the hydraulic lift elevate it, then place what appeared to be a chunk of meat onto a noose on a pole. “I want to see what’s going on here first. Drop the anchor so we don’t drift off.” Ben complied, an
d the two watched the event from a distance.

  ********

  Mr. Felt stood proudly in front of the crowd and raised his microphone to his mouth.

  “Thank you everyone for gathering over here at Felt’s Paradise. I am William Felt, the owner. What you are gathered here to see is the one and only great white shark in captivity.” He paused for effect and looked back to the pool. It was a cue for Marco to dump a couple of scoops of blood into the water. Marco noticed the subtle signal and bled a scoop down into the water eight feet below him. The dark red, coagulated blood splashed down and quickly divided into several loose strands and shapes, like red ghosts.

  A few moments later, the familiar grey dorsal fin emerged. The audience saw the triangular shape, cutting through the water like a sailboat. Under it, they could see the massive twenty-three-foot body of the great shark. The clear water provided great detail. Its rounded head turned as it followed the tasteful scent of blood. Its fin turned along with each motion of its body, which followed in a snake like pattern.

  The audience applauded. There were even a few cheers. Felt’s business smile became one of genuine happiness. It was just the reaction he was hoping for. People held out their iPhones and snapped pictures and digital video footage of the amazing fish. It reduced its speed as it swam through the cloud of blood. It dipped down, them emerged again, searching for the source. Finding nothing, it started to curve away toward the back of the pool.

  “Just take a look at that,” Felt shouted with the enthusiasm of a rodeo show host. “Now, we’re going to give you a demonstration of its awesome power! Marco, our aquarium assistant, will lower a little enticement of beef, and you will see the amazing power of the great white as it snatches its meal. These sharks have the most powerful jaws of any species of fish! Its bite is so powerful, it could easily crush a John Deere lawn mower like a soda can!”

  Forster quietly shut her eyes and took a solemn breath.

  Ugh, not even close. Her thoughts naturally went through her education. Bull sharks’ bites actually contained a much stronger PSI measurement than great whites, whose bites weren’t nearly as strong as Felt’s exaggerations. Though the bite force was powerful, the teeth were what really caused damage to its victim. Like a good employee, she kept her mouth closed, and allowed her boss to entertain his guests.

  Marco listened as Felt finished his monologue on the shark’s strength. Finally, Felt turned toward the pool again, glancing up at him. Marco sat on his knees and lifted the pole. The forty-pound slab of beef weighed heavily on the other end. Luckily, Marco’s muscular frame was able to handle the unbalanced weight. He extended the pole downward, holding the meat just above the surface, just a few feet from the thick glass wall. With no safety barrier, he was forced to lean a bit over the side. The meat, slung in the noose, dripped fresh drops of blood.

  The fresh scent attracted the shark. It turned back, much to the delight of the spectators. It moved ever gently closer, guiding itself along the wall of the tank. Forster watched from the deck. Her heart rate increased with anxiety. So did Marco’s. Suddenly, he felt stupid for agreeing to do this favor for Felt. Not that there was much choice; Felt didn’t really ask him.

  Forster wanted to give him tips, such as ‘let the pole go if the meat doesn’t come free,’ but she knew all that would do was break his focus. She kept her hands behind her back, keeping from making a nervous posture.

  The shark’s six-thousand-pound bulk broke the surface. Its head tilted up slightly, and its black marble eyes identified the meat. Having not fed in a while, its body was aching for sustenance. With a slash of its tail, it lifted itself higher, enough that its pectoral fins cleared the surface. Its eyes rolled back for protection, and its jaws extended. Inch-and-a-half long serrated teeth sliced onto the meaty end of the slab, and the fish pulled down violently. The meat pulled clear of the noose. The pole instantly became forty pounds lighter, causing Marco to nearly fall back.

  The shark crashed back down with its meal. Water crashed over the pool walls and onto the concrete flooring. The audience erupted with applause. Joining them was Felt, who was equally impressed by the stunt he had orchestrated.

  Forster exhaled a strong sigh of relief, followed by a smile. She looked up at Marco, who was equally happy of how well the demonstration went. He gave her a thumbs up, which she returned.

  “Alright, good job,” she said. “Now, let’s get you down from there.”

  “I agree to that,” Marco said. He began the process of collecting the items with putting the lid back on the plastic tub. At that moment, Felt spoke into his microphone with excitement.

  “So, what did you think of that?” he shouted to the audience, who promptly responded with some cheers. “That’s what I thought! You know what else I think?... I think you lovely people would love to witness that one more time!” A bigger eruption of cheers answered him.

  Forster swiftly turned toward Felt with questioning eyes. That relief she had felt instantly started to subside. Drunken by the thrill of the stunt and the audience’s positive reaction, Felt looked up at Marco, who was slightly surprised.

  “Hey son,” Felt called up to him with the microphone. “There should be another slab of beef in that tub! Let’s get that thing on the stick. That shark is hungry!”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  Marco reopened the container and lifted the heavy piece of raw meat. He loosened the noose and slipped the cord over the bleeding beef. He groaned after accidently smothering more of it on his shirt. Once the noose was tightened enough, he lifted it clear of the tub, taking no notice of a small fist sized square of meat that dangled freely by a thin strand of fat. As before, he dumped a scoop of blood into the water.

  It took a few seconds longer this time, but the familiar fin soon emerged. As soon as he saw it, he lowered the heavy end of the pole downward.

  “Oh, here it comes, just as hungry as before!” Felt’s voice carried on, as if narrating the event.

  Marco mentally blocked out the annoying audio and focused on the task. The shark moved a little slower, possibly because it had already consumed forty pounds. However, especially having been deprived of its previous meal, it was likely still hungry. Its torpedo shape became clear beneath the pure water it swam in. Marco dipped the pole further, just touching the bottom of the meat to the surface.

  Unbeknownst to him, the loose chunk of meat broke away with the contact of water. With not enough fat content to keep it afloat, it sank down, trailing a thin stream of blood. The great white’s lateral line picked up the faint water distortion. It dipped downward, submerging its dorsal fin, and scooped up the tiny bit of meat in a single effortless motion.

  “What the hell?” Marco said to himself as the shark unexpectedly dove down. He could still see its large bulk under the fading red blood cloud. It leveled out and started to circle back. His eyes briefly went to Felt, who was suddenly struck with unexpected confusion. Understanding his boss’ concern with satisfying the crowd, Marco leaned a bit more forward. He plunged the large chunk of meat into the water. Its jacket of blood lifted into a stringy cloud.

  The scent flooded the nearby shark’s nostrils. As instant as it picked up the scent, it turned and lashed forward. Its jaws stretched open and quickly closed down on its prey. Teeth sawed into the red lifeless bait, and immediately the shark pulled away with its prize, still bound by the noose.

  Marco’s brain barely comprehended the sudden response from the fish. He was still clinging to the pole when it was yanked into the water, taking him with it. He fell in a forward rolling motion, nearly hitting his head on the side of the pool.

  Marco had barely hit the water when the audience reveled in a concurrent gasp. People jumped to their feet, eager to see the worker and the shark. Workers rushed to the guardrail barrier of the pool, yelling for Security on their radios. Even Felt gasped, accidentally made audible by his microphone.

  A sudden sense of urgency flooded Marco’s nerves. Spitting
salt water from his mouth, he swam to the surface. He emerged at the surface and turned. A high-pitched shriek drained his lungs as the shark’s tail whipped toward him. The white had bumped into the glass after it grabbed the bait, which nearly caused it to lose the food. It grabbed it again and turned violently to swim off. Its tail slapped into his chest, knocking him several feet backwards. Marco saw nothing but a series of blurry images as the wind was blown from his lungs.

  “Marco!” Forster yelled as she watched her friend get knocked around like a bowling pin. She quickly got control of herself and focused on the shark’s position. She could see its fin starting to circle back. It had finished consuming the beef and was now coming back… straight for Marco. Its approach was slow, but there was no doubt its Ampullae of Lorenzini were detecting his weak, injured motions.

  He floated in the red bloody water, stunned and disoriented. Many of his bodily senses malfunctioned. He couldn’t hear anything except assorted garbled sounds; and his vision was blurred with watery images. His chest felt like a hundred-pound weight had been planted on him. He was conscious, but barely so, and he had no awareness of the shark’s approach.

  Workers climbed over the guardrail, ready to jump into the pool. Each of them froze at the sight of the dorsal fin. Marco was too far away for them to simply reach for, and there was nothing they had to extend out to him.

  Forster quickly analyzed the situation and her surroundings. She turned toward the hydraulic lift. Its table was elevated roughly two-and-a-half feet over her head. She took a couple of steps back, then dashed toward it. She jumped and reached high like a basketball player doing a slam dunk. Her hands clutched the side of the table, and she pulled herself up in a chin-up motion. She rose to her feet, and turned to face the pool. Marco had floated about ten feet out, and the shark was closing in. As her eyes locked in on it, it had just begun to increase its speed. She could see the jaws beginning to extend under the water. There was no opportunity to time her rescue attempt. It had to be done now.