by Michael Cole
“That’ll be a cold day in hell,” Felt said. Nelson turned toward him again, looking as if he was going to square up for the second time. “This thing is on my property, which makes it my property. You have no jurisdiction regarding this shark.” Forster watched the anger develop on the Chief’s face.
“This thing is responsible for God knows how many deaths,” he growled. “It nearly killed my officer, it wrecked our patrol boat, killed Old Hal Mendes and Ben Shreiner.” Felt put his hands up.
“Whoa, wait, wait, wait!” he said. “How do you know this thing killed them? Are you even sure if they’re dead?”
“Pieces of wreckage were found floating near the Rivera Trench,” Nelson said. “It’s a spot where those guys were found dumping illegal traps.”
“Isn’t that a little outside your jurisdiction, Chief?” Felt said, further trying to challenge Nelson. Forster whispered to him to stop, but Felt didn’t hear…or rather he chose not to listen.
“Listen pal, under certain circumstances, we can go as far out as we please,” Nelson said. “Bits of wreckage were found, mostly from Ben’s boat, although certain debris we believe was from Hal’s boat. However, from everyone I’ve spoken to, Ben doesn’t drink whiskey, and there were a couple of floating bottles near the wreckage. We brought up the traps, and discovered that they were smashed in, like something tore them apart. Name one thing that could do all of that that lives around here.”
Felt shrugged, nonchalantly, “Sorry, Chief, it sounds more like speculation to me. I’ll ask again, do you have any evidence directly linking this thing to anyone’s disappearance?” Even Forster struggled to hide the disgust within her expression. Felt sounded like a defense attorney, fighting to keep the defendant from getting life in prison on a technicality. She noticed Nelson’s slight quivers. He was awfully tempted to knock Felt to the floor. Felt knew just as well as everyone that the creature contained in the pen was undoubtedly a man-eater, but it didn’t matter as long as bundles of cash was at stake.
“Chief,” Forster said. Nelson didn’t answer. “Chief…Joe?” Finally, Nelson turned his gaze toward her. It was the first honest use of his first name by Forster. “How’s Nick?” Nelson took a breath, slowly soothing his temper.
“He’s probably going to lose the leg,” he said in a somber tone. “It’s early yet, we can’t say for sure. He’s stable, though.” Forster felt a mixed bag of emotions. She was happy that the officer pulled through and didn’t lose too much blood, but on the other hand the guilt factor was at an all time high.
“Oh, God,” she said. A flood of questions came to mind: donations, charities to the wife, anything she could do to assist in his rehabilitation, etc. She barely got the first syllable out for the first question when Felt started speaking again.
“Listen, Chief, I’m sorry about your officer. I really am.” If nothing else, he at least sounded sincere. “But think logically for a second. Do you really think Wildlife Control or the Coast Guard will want to put this animal down; a rare, new species, already in captivity? Come on, you know as well as I do that they won’t dare touch this thing.” Nelson stood silent. At least this time, Felt spoke the truth. Still, Nelson wasn’t satisfied. He thought of the ease in which it ravaged the boats, while simultaneously studying the walls of the pen.
“They won’t kill it,” he said, “but they’ll definitely want to remove it from here.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You seriously think you’ll be able to contain this thing here?” Nelson said. “If this thing gets pissed off, it’ll bust through these walls like nothing.”
“These walls are meant to contain whales,” Felt said. “I think they can handle a crustacean fish, thing…”
“You wouldn’t think that after seeing what I saw!” Nelson raised his voice again. “That damn thing went through the patrol boat like a blow torch through butter. Hell, most whales couldn’t do that.”
“This thing probably killed a whale,” Forster chimed in. Both men looked to her.
“What are you talking about?” Felt asked. Forster looked to Nelson.
“The whale hit by the speedboat that I towed the other day…there was a larger gaping wound. We thought it was from the speedboat, but I found it odd even at the time because the injury didn’t quite add up to what we thought happened. The whale was torn up, as if something had ripped chunks out of it.”
“Jesus, it killed something that big?” Nelson exclaimed.
“Whose side are you on?” Felt said to Forster, turning his frustration toward her. “You’re not implying that we can’t contain this thing, are you?” It was the kind of question that demanded a specific answer, and Forster could read between the lines.
“I’m just saying, in order to keep it under control, we’ll probably have to give it a continuous dosage of sedation,” she said.
“Oh, nonsense,” he said. “That’s what people want! To see the thing at full force when we feed it.” Nelson couldn’t take any more of the closed-mindedness. It was as if Felt refused to look at anything other than dollar signs. It was clear that he had no concern for the lives of his staff, as demonstrated by having Marco feed the great white, and allowing Forster to ship out alone to hunt the predator. These continued actions by Felt furthered Nelson’s anger.
“Listen, schmuck,” he said, “you’re putting people’s lives at risk by even having this thing here! You’ve already nearly gotten two of your people killed, and one of my officers…”
Felt squared up again, however being sure to keep a step back. “You want to come in here unwelcome and call me names? How about we see how the Mayor takes to this after I pay him a personal visit?”
“Go ahead, pal,” Nelson said. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know how you illegally sent somebody out onto the water and caused the destruction of government property.”
“He’d probably thank me,” Felt said. At this point, he was simply looking for an edge in the argument. “At least my boat and my employee made it back in one piece!” He regretted the words even as they came out, but there was no time to retract them. Nelson’s face lit up like a man possessed. Felt couldn’t even flinch before the Chief lunged forward with both hands outstretched. He grabbed fistfuls of Felt’s suit. They were deep grabs that ripped a couple of chest hairs from their pores. Felt yelped as he felt himself lifted off his feet and slammed against the thick glass.
Forster put her hands over her mouth. She wasn’t sure if it was pure strength or adrenaline, but Nelson had lifted the hefty businessman completely off his feet and managed to keep him suspended. The commotion drew the attention of a couple of maintenance men and one security guard, who came rushing into the room. All three looked puzzled, surprised to see the normally mild-mannered Chief Nelson suddenly so enraged.
Her heart pounded in her chest, unsure of what he’d do next. With the cold glass pressed against his back, Felt stuttered, unable to say anything coherent because of the overwhelming anxiety. Forster stepped forward.
“Chief…put him down,” she said. Nelson ignored her. “Chief!” This time she raised her voice, “let him go! Now!”
The water in the pen suddenly erupted in a fury of spirals, as if a tornado had touched down on it. All eyes went to the glass. Nelson jumped back impulsively, dropping Felt who landed on his feet and moved away. Bubbles twirled about, and the water swished, as the reawakened creature tore through the exhibit in a circular motion. Sluggish and uncoordinated, the creature continuously hit the walls as it raced about. A sense of self preservation struck everyone in the viewing room, including Felt. Even he worried of what would happen if the creature struck the bulletproof glass.
Forster whipped her gaze toward the entrance, where the light switches were located. Nearby, one of the maintenance men pressed his back to the wall.
“Hit the switches!” she yelled to him. He looked at her, puzzled for a moment before the instruction set in. He hit both switches in a single swipe. The room we
nt black, except for the blue luminosity coming from the glass. The creature raced in a few wild circles, before slowing. What little strength it had, it spent. Its antennae stretched out, as if searching for something. They brushed against the glass. Forster felt a nervous chill run down her back as the beast seemed to be staring directly into the room.
It angled down, stretching the antennae toward the floor. It allowed itself to sink down in a circular motion, gaining some distance from the glass. It settled on the floor, opening and closing its mouth in large motions. Everyone in the room gradually moved toward the glass for a better look.
“What’s it doing?” Felt asked. “Is it dry-heaving?”
“No,” Forster said. Her voice contained amazement. “I think it’s pumping water over its gills.”
“Don’t they have to swim for that?” one of the maintenance men said.
“Some sharks can get water over their gills while resting, like nurse sharks. This guy must have the ability to…” she stopped speaking, and stepped toward the glass as she witnessed the creature’s next action. Its body rocked back and forth, as something emerged from underneath it. Large, thin appendages unfolded from its underbelly, and extended until their tips were pressed against the bottom of the tank. Like the legs on a spider, the six digits lifted the creature a few feet upward. Then it walked, however slowly, along the bottom.
“What…the…fuck…” the security guard said.
“Julie, what the hell is this thing?” Felt said. The anxiety and adrenaline from the recent encounter was overtaken and nearly forgotten from this bizarre event. Forster didn’t answer right away, as she was taken aback by the new development.
“I…I don’t know,” she said.
“God, that’s how it clung to the boat,” Nelson said. Forster looked at him for clarification. “Remember, when it broke through the side. The boat leaned over, but it didn’t slip back down into the water.” The realization set in.
“It has these legs to move around during periods of rest,” she said, “but it also uses them to cling on to an enemy or larger prey. And it’s a scavenger!” She looked back to Nelson. “You said Hal had traps that were busted? This thing…I think it lived somewhere deep. After Wan Industry dumped in the water, that killed off a lot of its prey. It traveled along the deep, found Hal’s traps, then found its way toward our island. Killed the whale, which got away…and that explains the claw marks…and the whale got hit by the boat. Then the thing stuck around, after finding a new abundance of food.” She cupped her hand over her mouth again. “Oh God, and Old Hal is definitely…”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Felt said again. Nelson shook his head, feeling himself growing irritated again. He already risked his career by assaulting Felt, there was no use in digging a deeper hole for himself. He started walking out of the room. “Hey Chief!” Felt yelled after him, exactly what Nelson hoped wouldn’t happen. He turned and answered with a silent stare. “So, what do you plan to do?” The question was surprisingly straightforward.
“If I hear that this thing injures anyone else, I’ll come put a shotgun in its mouth myself,” he said. “Otherwise, do what you want.” He turned and left. Forster thought of walking out with him. She grew increasingly worried about Nelson. It was clear that he, like her, was getting very stressed from the recent events.
“Damn, this thing is freaking amazing,” Felt said. He rubbed his chest where Nelson had grabbed him. Normally, he’d press charges, but it was clear he won the day when he got the Chief to lay off on his intentions for the specimen. That was all he needed, as long as Nelson didn’t interfere further. Having an undiscovered species in his exhibit gave him an uplifting buzz. “Doc, it’s all yours. Study as much as you wish. We’ll be famous.” Forster faked a smile. The accomplishment didn’t feel as good as she thought it would.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“You think you’ll be able to figure out where it came from?” he asked.
“That would require me to do some traveling,” Forster said. “To see if there are any more.”
“Well, we’ll have the Neptune back shortly,” Felt said. “As long as you manage to care for this thing, and keep it under control, you can do as much research as you please. Our new sales will certainly fund it. The tax write-off won’t hurt, either.”
“Maybe take your travels to Mako’s Center!” one of the maintenance workers said, followed by laughter. Forster looked at him, confused. The laughter stopped. “You remember? That hoax that went out a few years back? Everyone said a huge crab-squid monster attacked the island, and some Rick Napper, or however you say his name, went on record exposing the government for…” he altered his voice to sound spooky, “creating the monster as a weapon for military purposes.” He chuckled again.
“Didn’t he eventually recant the story, admitting it was fake?” the security guard asked.
“Yeah,” the worker said. “Kind of a shame. Imagine if that really happened.”
I can only imagine… Forster thought. She recalled the news reports, and how it swept the media, followed by the uproar when Rick Napier admitted the whole thing was made up. But there was something else about that story that itched in her mind, but she couldn’t quite recall it. Something that reminded her of something else. She ached to get to a computer and read about it, wanting to know of the loose end to the story she couldn’t figure out.
“So, what’s your plan for this thing?” Felt interrupted her thoughts.
“Oh!” she said and looked at the creature. “Let me dump some scraps down here and see what it does.” There was still plenty of food in stock which had been intended for the great white. She quickly exited, hoping the day would pass quickly.
CHAPTER
19
It was early in the afternoon when the Police Department announced the waters were safe to re-enter, though they never specified why nobody could be out to begin with. There was only the vague explanation that a shark had attacked the resort’s research vessel. However, there was no press on the great white’s escape. Scott and Ben found this somewhat surprising, but probably figured the owner didn’t want the bad press. And they were fine with it, because it also meant that they had left no clue of their involvement.
As soon as the waters were reopened, Ben and Scott were immediately out on the water. For hours they drifted, while Scott made a chum trail, hoping to attract the white which they had illegally released. So far, all they found were stray tuna and a few baby dog sharks.
Scott scraped up the last of the chum from the empty container and dumped it over the stern of the Twist Off. Tired, bored, and frustrated he moved the empty container to the side of the deck before taking a seat. He turned to face the portside, looking inland, as the evening sun started sinking below the mainland skyline. Streams of horizontal light made it nearly blinding to look to the west, which forced him to squint as he chummed. Meanwhile, Ben stayed in the wheelhouse, ignoring the various complaints from his first mate. Wearing sunglasses to dim the sunlight, he continuously glanced to the fish finder, waiting for that large blip to appear. However, the screen showed nothing but a few tiny dots, like grains of salt, which represented tiny fish. He looked away often from the screen towards a pump-action shotgun leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Each glance to the weapon helped spark the glorious image of him putting a shell through the head of that shark and putting a hook on it before towing it away. It would be a great story to tell at the bars, assuming word didn’t get out that it was Felt’s shark. The fantasy helped him keep up the drive to hunt it. Scott, however, was growing more anxious by the hour. Looking at the reflection in the rearview mirror, Ben saw Scott sitting. He turned and stuck his head out the back window.
“Dude!” he said. “We don’t have time for sitting! You see that sun over there?” He pointed to the horizon, as Scott looked and shielded his eyes.
“Yeah, I do!” the young, muscular fisherman replied. “I’ve been baking in it all d
amn day!”
“Yeah? Then you should know we have limited daylight left! I already see you’ve emptied the one tub of chum, now open the other one,” Ben said.
“When are we heading back?”
“After we catch the bastard,” Ben said. “Since we had to miss a day, we are already running late on schedule.” Scott thought for a second, What schedule? You never called the butcher to set this up. He stood back up, and sluggishly dragged the full container of chum to the stern. After getting it to its spot, he straightened his stance and looked to the captain.
“You know…it’s probably gone,” he said. Ben could sense his drive had completely dissipated.
“I doubt it went too far,” Ben reassured him. “It’s probably looking for food. I heard they smell blood from miles out…or something, at least I think so…but either way, if he smells this from that far away it would take him a while to get here.” Scott stared at him, deciding whether or not to inform his boss of what little sense he just made. Ben seemed already aware of this, and felt a desire to end the conversation. “Whatever, just quit complaining and get back to work,” he said, and simply disappeared back into the wheelhouse, though he left the window open. Scott returned to his duties. He opened the tub, accidentally dumping a splash of red goo onto the deck. Guts splattered over his boots and pant legs.
“Great,” he said, and proceeded to chum. As he did, his mind continued to wander, focusing on the deed they had committed the other night. For the past twenty-four hours it haunted him; not because of the impact to the resort or its employees, but something else he feared happened as a result. The news of Old Hal’s disappearance, as well as Bob Whisker, spread quickly. Though Hal was not a favorite even among the fishing community, it still came as a shock when police identified the wreckage of his boat. Scott felt sick, and the constant, agonizing smell from the guts didn’t help. He looked back to the wheelhouse, seeing Ben through the open window.
