by Hugo Navikov
“Actually, it literally is, Chief,” Popcorn said after collecting himself a bit. “The town of Rugby is famously the exact geographical center of North America.”
“That’s a tough place to study the ocean,” Mickey said, still not getting it.
“That’s why whoever invented books—”
Popcorn interrupted without having to think, “That would be King Neferirkare Kakai, of the Fifth Dynasty in Egypt.”
“—invented books,” Holly finished with faux annoyance at her colleague. “I’m going to endow, with my own fortune, a two-year program, one where students can learn everything they need to know about the ocean before going on to a big oceanography institute somewhere on one of the coasts.”
“I love ya, Holly, but that is frickin’ bizarre.”
“Not really,” she said. “Not if you never want to see the ocean again. Ever.”
###
It was approaching dusk on the last day of Jake Bentneus’s life. The technology that kept him alive was working exactly as designed, not a glitch in the whole system.
No, it was what was left of his body that couldn’t do it anymore. It had gone downhill fast after his broadcast, maybe sensing that calling the world to kill the monster was the last, best thing he would ever do.
His ability to speak was gone, less and less sustenance was being absorbed by his body, and his sight, although still acceptable with the corrective lenses they had put on him, was fading fast as well.
But it would last long enough to see what the news video told him was coming.
In fact, although he couldn’t turn his head, he was able to shift his gaze to the window as he heard the news choppers and heard the long hoot of the tugboat pulling the head of his Gigadon.
He watched for it, waited for it. He just needed to hold on, to will the machines to keep his blood circulating for just a few minutes more the way he once could will his crews to make the biggest movies of all time. If he had still possessed a heart, he would have felt it beating harder and faster.
The tug appeared first, followed by I Spit on Your Grave on its pillow of Honeycomb … and then …
Pulled slowly into his view was the face that had haunted his nightmares: that awful snout packed with rows of teeth, the eyes missing now but the dark holes still seeming to glare at him, that head as big as a drive-in theater screen. Then, into his field of vision came the end of that head, cut off raggedly, maybe even savagely.
Gigadon was dead. Bentneus had achieved Victory over the ocean, Vengeance against the eternally black water … they belonged to him now and forever.
If his eyes could have produced tears, his face would have been wet with them. But as it was, he cried with joy deep inside his conscious mind, the only thing he had left except for his victory and his vengeance.
Not much later, this last of him faded away, and Jake Bentneus slipped forever into the darkling deep.
The End
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PROLOGUE
Jack ‘Rochambeau’ Adams had lived in and around Lake Minerva his entire life; sixty-six years in fact. He visited the same fishing spot every week, without fail. Frequenting a secluded lagoon—or the Cove as he liked to call it—Jack would cast his line and wait for a bite. He continued to make these frequent visits despite the fact he was unable to claim a single bite in over two years; never once contemplating locating to a new spot. After all, he liked to think it was his spot. Truth was, Jack was happy to just sit in his boat, sipping the night away, listening to the crickets. Although, strangely enough, whilst there were plenty of crickets around, Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a frog or a toad offer up as much as a ribbit. Jack liked frogs and toads; he had done ever since he was a kid. He used to catch their tadpoles, and raise them up, before releasing them back into the myriad tributaries that branched off from Lake Minerva proper. Jack could remember a time when the chorus of their croaking drowned out the chirps of the insects.
All around him, pallid moonlight danced across the expansive blanket of black-blue water, framed on either side by smooth, sloping hills, beyond which lay much of Minerva County’s more expansive farmland. Occasionally, one might hear a cow mooing somewhere off in the distance, or a horse neighing. As for neighbours, they were almost alien. The fact that someone had to go out of their way to run into another human being around Lake Minerva was precisely the reason Jack liked the place so much. Seclusion was his friend… that and bourbon, of course. And maybe the occasional beer, sometimes.
Scanning the water around his small vessel, Jack noted the calm veneer of the lake. There was no real wind about to disturb its glassy, reflective surface. Jack lifted his cap, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his wrinkled brow, before taking another swig of the harsh brown liquid. Jack recalled with much fondness his dad bringing him to the lake as a young boy, usually on weekends, but sometimes after school, so the two of them could fish together. That was another reason Jack was so fond of his little cove. He and his dad had claimed it all those years ago. He’d even proposed to his wife, Jenny, not far from where he now floated, over forty years ago. Still, just like his old man, his lovely Jenny was gone now too.
Jack scratched his salt-and-pepper beard, gazing up at the night sky, silently taking in the incandescent specks of light hanging above him like fireflies. A shooting star caught his attention as it streaked across the black tapestry, bringing a thin smile to the man’s weathered face. Jack brought the whiskey bottle to his lips one more time, stopping millimetres from his half-puckered lips, as the gentle click-click-click of his reel sounded.
It had been awhile since he’d heard that noise. “Bullshit…” Jack breathed, putting the whiskey bottle down at his feet.
Click-click-click. Jack’s line went out a little further. Click-click-click.
“What do we have here?” he said aloud, gently taking a hold of the rod, planting his feet for leverage.
Suddenly, the line took off, unspooling rapidly, making a whizzing sound as it went. After the initial surprise wore off, Jack let it go for a moment longer, click-click-click … then he struck. Gripping the rod, Jack began reeling in the line, stopping every so often, allowing his catch some slack, before winding it in a little more. Slowly, but surely, just like his old man had taught him.
Wear ‘em down! He could hear his pop’s gruff voice floating around somewhere in the back of his head.
“That’s it! C’mon!” Jack coaxed the fish. “C’mon!”
He guessed it must have been a solid thirty pounds, or thereabouts. A big fish, for sure. “What do we have here? Salmon? Trout?” Jack grunted as he reeled the line back towards him, tension accumulating in the muscles located around his back and shoulders. Suddenly, it was like his catch doubled in size. His rod bent under the pressure, bowing wildly, the force of the additional weight momentarily lifting Jack out of his bench seat. A second later, his catch took off again, the line going with it, his ass slamming unceremoniously back down into his seat.
Something’s trying to steal my catch…
“Motherfucker!” the old man cursed as the line unspooled itself again. Suddenly, there was a sharp, violent tug, that shook the rod in his hands, jarring his arms, and then the weight simply just disappeared. “Huh?” Jack figured he’d just lost his catch. “Damn it!” he breathed, furiously cranking the line in. “Hold on…” Jack spoke out loud. There was still some resistance at the end of it, although seemingly not as much as it had been to begin with, but still there was something there. Maybe he hadn’t lost his catch after all.
Did it struggle free?
Quickly, Jack reeled in his line, determined to have his prize before something else tried to steal it. His heart and stomach fluttered with excitement; a sensation he hadn’t felt in a while. He yanked back hard on the rod, lifting his quarry out of the dark water. At first, it just looked like a big, black, indiscernible mass. It could have been a ball of garbage for all Jack knew. Letting
go, the blob fell at his feet, causing the boat to rock in the inky water, a cascade of ripples emanating outwardly from the vessel. Jack quickly grabbed his torch out from under his seat. Clicking the device on, he focused the beam of light on his prize.
“What the—?”
It was some kind of fish. Big and ugly, with a wide mouth, and round, bug-like eyes staring inertly back at him. The old man found them eerie in their lifeless, unblinking state. The fish was dark grey in colour, mottled with black flecks. Some kind of grouper maybe, but Lake Minerva was a freshwater lake, and groupers were a marine species. This just didn’t make sense. Still, the evidence was there in front of him, for his eyes to see. Jack trailed the thin beam of light along its corpse, gasping in shock when he realised it was missing the lower half of its scaled, slimy body! All that was left was a gaping hole; a mess of tubular, serpent-like entrails dangling from the ragged wound, blood and other bodily fluids seeping across the belly of his boat. Worse than the actual sight of the mangled fish was the stink it gave off. It was downright putrid. Jack gagged, before looking away in disgust and hurling watery vomit over the side of the boat.
Regaining his composure a few moments later, the old man returned his gaze to the bloody mess at his feet. He estimated the fish—or rather what was left of it—was two feet in length.
What took the other half? What’s big enough to kill a four-foot long grouper? These were the questions that filled Jack’s fogged, alcohol-riddled mind.
A sense of panic setting in, Old Jack made his decision there and then: he didn’t care to know what had taken a chunk out of his fish.
Just get rid of it. Get back to shore.
Jack scooped up the bloodied, reeking remains, and made to throw them overboard. Then stopping mid-swing, he reconsidered.
Do I need to show this to someone? The sheriff?
Jack stood there for a moment, his mind wracked by indecision, blood from the butchered fish dripping, bit by bit, into the pitch-black water below. The scent from the blood leeched into the liquid environment beneath him. Meanwhile, Jack bit his lip, unsure what to do.
Without warning, the glistening surface exploded in a violent spray, drenching the bewildered man from head to toe. Partially blinded by the rising curtain of water, Jack was only able to make out a flash of jagged white, triangular teeth, lined by thick, pink gums. A pain jolted up through his right arm, starting at the wrist. The body of the ugly, bulbous fish was gone… and when Jack looked again, he realised so too was his right hand. All that remained was a gory stump, blood spurting from the end of it like some grotesque fountain.
Jack collapsed into the boat. As he came down, his left elbow hit the bulky, black outboard motor with such force that the engine pitched on its hinge, rising up out of the water, exposing the steel propeller. In his panicked state, Jack wasn’t paying enough attention. All that mattered to him was getting the engine started, his attention focused on that single, simple task. Blood dribbling from his wounded limb like syrup oozing from a broken bottle, he cranked away at the motor-board with his good hand, pulling with all the strength he could muster. Jack groaned from a blend of pain and exertion, his heart pounding furiously against the inside of his ribcage. Then two things happened at once…
The engine kicked over, the propeller buzzing to life with a sound something like a chainsaw. A second explosion of water erupted towards the boat’s stern, a triangular snout breaking the surface like the prow of a submarine rising from the depths, casting shining droplets of clear water in every direction. The predator’s jaws hovered just centimetres from Jack’s head. Lunging for the outboard motor, the old man spun it towards the creature. Jack made out a large onyx eyeball, the moonlight bouncing off the wide pupil, a second before he slammed the spinning propeller into the side of the creature’s cranium, slicing through thick, rubbery flesh! A heavy spray of coppery-scented blood caught Jack full in the face, blinding him.
Wiping his face clean with his remaining hand, Jack opened his eyes, but the animal was gone, nothing more than sloshing waves left in its wake. The old man didn’t waste any time, he slammed the roaring outboard down, driving the propeller into the water, muffling its mechanical whine. The boat launched immediately, tearing through the water and carving up frothing waves around it, as he navigated his way out of the lagoon. Jack gunned it, heading for the shoreline. A minute later, the water’s edge came into view. Drawing closer to shore, Jack’s sense of fear began to dissipate, the old man’s heartrate and breathing gradually returning to some state of normalcy.
SCREEEECH!
The sound of grinding metal assaulted Jack’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. The boat lurched to a shuddering halt, violently whipsawing him in his seat. Bewildered, the terrified man could only watch as a long, jagged score opened up at his feet, extending almost the entire length of the boat’s aluminium hull. Jack figured he’d entered the shallows and struck a submerged rock.
“Fuck nuggets!” Jack barked.
The boat was taking on water fast, the liquid rushing up to meet him, washing over his ankles as the metal frame of the boat lowered into the dark swilling water. Jack stumbled awkwardly to the prow, jumping down into the cool water. It came up to just below his chest, his boots managing to touch the sandy bottom. Jack trudged slowly, and with difficulty, making for the shoreline, every stride feeling exaggerated, his wet clothing sagging, weighing and pulling him down. The old man never saw the frothing wake speeding towards him, coming at him from his rear.
Unexpectedly, something slammed into Jack’s right ankle. A split second later, a searing pain spread up his leg, forcing him to cry out. Jack felt—what he could only assume to be—teeth puncture his skin, carving through flesh and biting down all the way to the bone buried beneath, scraping as they went. With a sharp, unforgiving tug, his attacker wrenched him under the waterline.
Jack entered a world of nothingness. All around him there was just an expanse of black. Black and more black. He couldn’t see the creature that had hounded and injured him. Although, he felt it one last time. Its pointed snout slammed into Jack’s torso. Working like a battering ram, it drove what little air there was left out of his already flagging lungs. Bitter-tasting water funnelled down his oesophagus into his lungs and stomach, all before Jack felt its serrated teeth bore into his belly, dining on his innards, eviscerating him. Snapping its head side-to-side, lost in its frenzy, the creature gorged itself on the poor fisherman.
In the end, his attacker ate old Jack alive.
Apex is available from Amazon here
