by Michael Cole
“I don’t know man,” he said. “Are we gonna head in after it gets dark?”
“You’re still complaining!” Ben interrupted him.
“No, I’m asking,” Scott said. “Because of what happened the other night, you know?” Ben sighed and stepped out onto the deck.
“Scott, I already told you, the shark didn’t kill Hal,” he said.
“You really think so? It just seems odd that the same night that we let it out, he disappeared,” Scott said.
“It sucks that those guys are gone, but I’m done crying about it,” Ben said. Scott thought he sounded surprisingly sincere, despite knowing what he was about to say next, “Right now, we have more important things to deal with.” Like make a buck.
“I don’t know, man,” Scott said. A wave of realization hit Ben.
“Oh, I get what it is!” he said. “You’re just anxious! You think that the shark sank Hal and Bob’s boats, and will get us too if we stay out too late!” He started laughing, destroying the sincerity he exhibited before. Scott felt suddenly embarrassed.
“No! I, uh…” he stuttered. “It’s just that…”
“Listen, kid,” Ben said. “Sharks can’t sink boats. It’s not like the movies! Now, get a grip on yourself. We’re gonna catch the bastard and make a bunch of money off him.”
“Did you ever get a quote?” Scott asked, while turning around to resume chumming. Ben remained quiet for a moment.
“Sure did,” he lied. “Five grand, the guy said.”
“Five grand?” Scott asked. Ben nodded, while taking small indiscreet steps back to the wheelhouse, in hopes of sneaking out of the conversation.
“Uh, great white meat is a rare delicacy, and sells for lots of money. Hell, the guy will probably make three times what he’ll pay us. Heh, chump! Oh well, but that’s the word. So, uh, keep at it.” He dipped back into the wheelhouse. Scott could feel the boat moving forward, meaning Ben likely wanted to try a different spot. The boat turned to the west, allowing the wheelhouse to cast a shadow over the deck, much to Scott’s relief. He worked the chum, focusing on the five grand. Though he sensed the deception in Ben’s voice, he chose to believe he was being truthful in order to justify the strain on his back.
“Oh shit,” Ben’s voice poured through the window. Scott stopped and peeked around the structure. Straining through the direct view of sunlight, he could just see the outline of an approaching boat.
“What’s wrong? Who is that? A police boat?” he said, making himself nervous in the process.
“I don’t think so,” Ben said. “Probably just some fishermen. Stop chumming for a sec. I don’t want anyone to know what we’re up to. They might want a cut of the dough.” For what seemed like the hundredth time, Scott dropped the scoop and took a seat. He looked around for something inconspicuous to do, so he grabbed a tangled net balled up in the corner and started working out the knots. The other boat’s engine rumbled as it approached. Scott worked on the net, waiting for the boat to pass by.
“Hey, Ben!” a voice called out. “What are you doing out this late?” Scott could barely hear Ben curse under his breath before stopping the boat. The other boat stopped as well. Scott looked at the twenty-five-foot vessel, seeing one of Ben’s drinking buddies at the helm. Morgan Purvis was a heavyset man, but managed to carry it well. Wearing a sweater and jeans, he stepped from the wheel to his starboard side. Ben greeted him with a wave.
“Nothing, really,” he said. “By that I mean, almost literally nothing. That’s all we’ve caught.”
Tell me about it, Scott thought. Morgan scratched his goatee, seemingly sniffing the air.
“Yeah, we netted a few along the south side, but nothing significant,” he said. His attention seemed drawn elsewhere even as he spoke. “Who knows, maybe we’ll have to apply for welfare.” He started eyeballing their boat, almost as if he was suspicious. He looked at the water behind them. Ben noticed this.
“Everything alright?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound nervous. Morgan didn’t answer and kept looking at the water to the east. He tucked back toward his helm and grabbed some binoculars, then stepped back to the rail. Looking at the water, he saw the splashes of small sharks as they nipped at the chum trail. With the sun to his back, the red watery line in the water had a clear contrast against the surrounding water. He lowered the binoculars then stood up on his toes, trying to see into the Twist Off’s deck. He could barely see the open container, with bits of blood spilt over the edges.
“Wait a sec…” he said. He suddenly burst into laughter. Maintaining his straight face, Ben tightened his fists out of view as his way of physically expressing his irritation. Morgan looked down toward an open hatch in his deck. “Hey, Phil! Get up here!” A skinny man, dressed in exercise pants and a white t-shirt, climbed onto deck.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Remember that the Police Chief reported seeing a shark?” Morgan said. Phil nodded, and chuckled. Morgan pointed to Ben and Scott. “These guys are trying to hunt it! See the chum?” Both men erupted with laughter.
“No, not really…” Ben stuttered. Scott turned and winced, mentally begging Ben not to speak further, as he was not a good liar. “We’re just out here to...”
“Well, you’re not trawling,” Morgan said. Ben gave up. If anything, he was relieved. So far, they didn’t appear to be aware of the Great White’s release. “One thing you are doing, is wasting your time. No shark would hang around here, there’s no food. And even if you caught it, what would you do with it?” Ben suddenly found himself on the spot, after lying to Scott. All he could think of was to go with that same lie.
“I know a guy who’ll butcher it on the mainland,” he said. “He’s willing to pay big bucks for a nice sized Great White.” Morgan stared at him for a moment, as if reading his thoughts. Ben grew nervous, though he dared not to show it.
“Ha!” Morgan laughed again. Now Ben felt frustrated.
“What’s so funny this time?” he said. Morgan wiped some spit from his face.
“It’s illegal to fish for Great Whites in these parts,” Morgan said. “There’s no market around here that’ll take it, not even its fins!” Scott perked up after hearing this. Though Ben didn’t look at him, he could feel his first mate’s eyes burrowing into his temple. The anger he sensed was real.
Scott wanted to confront Ben right away, but restrained himself. Doing so was hard. He had no problem committing such a felony as long as it meant a good payday. As Ben had deceived Hal by telling him they’d release the shark as revenge for the supposed tampering of his traps, Ben had deceived Scott, even if accidentally. Morgan could sense the unspoken tension that had awoken, though he was unaware of its meaning. However, the amusement had turned to awkwardness, and he suddenly wanted to leave. Phil felt the same way, as he disappeared back into the lower deck.
“Well, I suppose we’ll be heading in,” Morgan said. “Good luck on your endeavors. You know…you can still catch some blue shark if they’re around.” The attempt to offer encouragement only resulted in more silent awkwardness. Morgan stepped back to the helm. He won’t be drinking with me today. “Good night!” He throttled the boat past them. Scott watched the boat move by, following the long trail of chum they had created.
Ben stepped back into the wheelhouse, as if it somehow hid him from Scott. It wasn’t long before the portside door opened, and the first mate stepped in. His eyes looked demonic, and every facial muscle was tense. For the first time, Ben worried that Scott would physically harm him.
Then, strangely, Scott’s angered look changed. Ben saw his eyes turn down toward the fish finder. Slowly, Ben looked to see what drew his attention.
There it was, the large green speck indicating that something big was underneath. The creature it represented, which they believed to be their great white, passed underneath. It seemed to approach Morgan and Phil’s vessel. As it did, the image ascended. Not only did it ascend, but it did so with great speed, like a space s
huttle burning thrusters. It touched the top of the screen. The echo of devastation, like a train collision, filled their eardrums. Both men raced out onto the deck, beholding the horror of Morgan’s vessel. The stern was caved in completely, allowing water to rapidly seep in. The stern, or what remained of it, had almost completely submerged, and the bow tilted up.
Scott and Ben stared at the scene in stunned silence. The boat turned in the water like a top, completely in place. Water lifted like large mountains over the submerged stern, while small but vicious tidal waves formed as the hull from the bow swept along the surface. It was as if something had a hold of the boat from underneath. As it turned, the stern sunk down lower. The water that filled the compartments had added too much weight, in addition to the stress it was currently enduring. Metal groaned as bits of the vessel began to pull apart.
Morgan climbed out of the cabin, holding on to the door. His feet nearly slipped out from under him, and he nearly tumbled down into the thrashing waves. Ben turned and hurried into the wheelhouse and turned the wheel. The Twist Off moved in a circular motion until it had completely turned around. For once, Ben was doing the decent thing as he moved the boat closer to the devastation to help his friend. By the time they had turned, Morgan’s boat had come to a stop, with the starboard side facing their bow. Cracks had formed in the hull along the side, and the vessel leaned heavily to port. They didn’t see Morgan.
“Morgan! Phil! Get out on deck!” Scott yelled to them. There was no answer. The waves settled, leaving a dreary silence that was more unsettling than the active devastation. Then the silence was broken. A spine-chilling scream filled the air. Ben stopped the approach and felt his jaw quiver as he saw his friend emerge from behind the boat, waist up from the water. Both arms were stretched out, as if trying to cling to the air for safety. Blood poured from his mouth as he was dragged along the surface, his torso bending backward from the force. A huge shadow traveled underneath him, taking him wherever it went, leaving a trail of blood. Morgan yelled out until his lungs ran out of air. The shape hooked around and went back to the boat, continuing to drag the captain. Then, in a swift motion, it dove. Morgan disappeared under the waves, and another eerie silence replaced the chaos.
Ben slowed his boat, gradually taking it around the side of the half-submerged wreckage. He worked his way around the bow, keeping a distance of twenty feet. Scott stood in the center of the deck. Fright caused his teeth to chatter as if he was standing outside in twenty-degree temperature. Their boat came around to the portside, which was almost completely submerged by water. There was nothing but calm water and wreckage. Ben looked hopelessly at the water, which seemed so deceptively peaceful.
A splash erupted, sending a huge wave at the windshield. Ben jumped back, then laid eyes on the water that slid down the glass. It was red with Morgan’s blood.
“Oh my God!” Scott screamed. Ben opened the door and leaned outside, seeing his first mate backing away in terror. On the deck was one of Morgan’s arms, severed just above the elbow, before being thrown by the splash.
Self preservation took over. Ben jumped back inside and put the boat on full throttle. Scott turned and looked down at the water, dry heaving after witnessing the sickening gore. The engine hummed as the Twist Off gained speed, leaving the sinking vessel behind.
“Come on, come on, not too far,” Ben said to himself to try and relax his nerves as he watched the island grow steadily larger. He wasn’t even going to find a port; he was going to dock anywhere he possibly could as long as he could set foot on dry land.
A glowing light caught his eye. The fish finder was still on, and Ben couldn’t help but notice the large green blob was still on the screen. Directly underneath them. Ascending rapidly.
As Scott looked into the water, he was only able to see the enormous shadow for a brief moment. The next thing he saw was a mad flurry of debris as the starboard quarter seemed to explode. Fiberglass and wood shot in every direction, and the boat flipped to port and rolled like a log. Scott felt himself thrown into the water, several yards away. He sank several feet down. His body was momentarily paralyzed from the stunning impact. His eyes were open, and he found himself staring at the Twist Off. It was completely capsized, with the wheelhouse pointing downward.
The door was busted off, and bits of wreckage surrounded it like an asteroid field. He saw Ben emerge. His teeth were clenched, and it was clear he was in immediate need of air. He struggled frantically toward the surface. Then the shape emerged.
Motionless in the water, Scott beheld the immense creature. Red in color, shaped like a shark, but with a jointed body and a rigid exterior. Strange appendages protruded from its snout, and spiny formations were formed all over its body. He witnessed Ben shriek under the water before the jaws snatched him up. Teeth punctured his torso, forcing Ben’s entire body into its mouth. His arms and legs dangled from the jaws, waving incessantly as Ben still fought for dear life. The creature shook him viciously from side to side. A cloud of blood burst from the chomp, and suddenly the limbs were torn from the body. They floated away, each leaving a trail of blood.
Scott felt his strength return to him, and he swam to the surface. He took a gasp of air and turned toward the island. It was when he started to swim that he realized he had no more energy left, despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It was as if his body shut down.
Bobbing in the water nearby, he saw the detached wheelhouse door floating several feet away. He used what strength he had left and made his way to it and climbed on top of the flat piece of wood. He laid face down on it, keeping a hold on the edges. He watched the fin emerge and course the water in a circle. It was as if it was searching. He kept still, hoping he would remain undetected.
The red fin made several passes. Each minute seemed to last forever, and it appeared that the strange creature would not give up. Suddenly, it stopped. After a few seconds, the creature turned away, and darted for the wreckage that was Morgan’s boat.
Phil had moved the last of the cargo out of the way as water filled the storage compartment. The impact had thrown him to the side, nearly knocking him unconscious. When his senses returned to him, he was almost completely underwater, leaning against the wall. The compartment was flooding, and the hatch was blocked by large crates. As the water filled the remaining space, he raced to move everything out of the way to get to safety. By the time he was able to open the hatch, the entire compartment was completely submerged.
Despite the confusion of what was happening, there was still the sense of relief once he escaped the watery tomb. That relief only lasted for a moment. Up to his chest in water, clinging to the railing, he saw the fin cutting through the water toward him. Then the creature’s snout lifted over the surface, and the mouth opened, revealing white jagged teeth over two inches long. The jaws encompassed him, and he felt each tooth puncture his body. The jaws tightened their grip, driving each tooth deeper. Internal organs were punctured. Phil let out a pained scream until the teeth pierced his lungs, deflating any air he had. Blood burst from his mouth, and he was dragged underwater. The creature released its grasp, only to make a new bite and drive him deeper into its throat.
Scott closed his eyes as the screams finally ceased. He clung to the door, listening to the distant thrashing in the water as the creature searched the wreckage for other prey. Soon, exhaustion consumed him, and he slipped into unconsciousness as the current carried him towards shore.
CHAPTER
20
The final streaks of sunlight stretched over the resort as the clocks struck 9:00. The rides ceased activity, the concession stands started storing away merchandise and food for the night, and the doors to the aquarium were locked shut. The late-night visitors had mostly vacated from the park and aquarium to the resort, most of them to their hotel rooms. Others gathered at the late-night bars, where overpriced drinks were constantly being served.
Nine-year-old Eric Neman texted away on his iPhone, staring at the tents bloc
king the Great White Exhibit. He didn’t pay much attention to his dad, who sat on a bench nearby, taking slow breaths. The fried chicken strips he ate over an hour ago were not sitting well. His wife sat next to him, continuously asking him how he was feeling, which only agitated his condition.
“Just…hang on,” he said. He held a hand up toward her, signaling for her to wait. He kept his eyes shut and focused on the cooling night air. The wife simply mouthed “okay” and scooched away from him.
While his dad struggled to keep his dinner, Eric kept trying to peek past the tents and other barriers that blocked any view into the pen. Since they had arrived yesterday, he anxiously waited to see the great white, only to be disappointed by the announcement that the exhibit was temporarily closed. His parents took the liberty of asking employees when it would reopen, only to receive vague responses that didn’t really answer much. It was as if they knew but weren’t allowed to give any information. Every time they passed by, Eric looked for a way to sneak around and get a peek, but never found a good opportunity. A lover of all things sharks, he was immensely disappointed, to the point where it impacted his enjoyment of the rest of the resort.
Just a peek at the big fish was all he wanted.
The dad coughed a few times, followed by a pained moan. The wife scooted back next to him, instinctively putting her hand on his shoulder.
“Honey, do you think you can make it back to the hotel?” He simply shook his head but stood up anyway as if to attempt. She stood up alongside him. “Just relax, take one breath at a time.” Her words seemed to have the opposite effect. He took a breath, but as if he was bracing for something. His eyes opened wide, and his expression alerted her to the situation. “Oh shit,” the wife said. She looked around frantically, hoping to find a trash can. Surprisingly, there didn’t appear to be one in the immediate area.
