Creature From The Crevasse

by Michael Cole

  Meya accelerated the chopper’s speed, keeping low enough to be seen by the fish, but high enough to avoid the fish’s high leaps. She watched the screen to be sure the fish was still near.

  The spotlights from Hampton’s Ledge came into view. Finally. Keeping the chopper at the center point in the lake, she kept pushing the chopper forward. Once directly in front of the ledge, she would lure the fish straight to the crane.

  She took another glance at the screen. The blip was still there, but much further off. The fish was giving up its pursuit.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she said. She lowered the chopper until the lure dipped down. She zigzagged, creating all sorts of motions with the lure. For a moment, the blip remained in place. Finally, it moved toward the center of the screen. Meya clicked the transmitter. “We’re almost there!” She accelerated, dragging the lure beneath. She crossed the water, a quarter-mile out from the ledge.

  “There!” Sydney pointed at the navigation lights in the distance. They could hear the blades chopping the air as they rotated. Although it was dark, they could barely see the shape of the chopper, hovering over the water like a hummingbird. Sydney lifted his radio. “We see you!”

  “I’m coming in,” Meya said. The chopper turned and gradually moved in. Logan lifted the binoculars to his eyes. He focused just underneath the chopper. He could see the splashes by the lure, but nothing else.

  “I don’t have a visual on the bass,” he spoke into his radio. “Are you sure it’s following you?”

  Suddenly, the chopper lurched upward. The water underneath it exploded as the fish jumped. Its body twisted in mid-air as it narrowly missed the lure. It arched its body, opening and shutting its mouth repeatedly until it hit the water. Logan felt his body nearly seize with shock and awe.

  “Disregard,” he said.

  Sydney felt his heart thump in his chest as the chopper narrowly dodged the Carnobass’s attack. With each rapid beat of his heart, the pain in his leg throbbed, worsened by his concern for Meya. He watched as she gradually lowered the chopper and worked her way closer to the ledge.

  “Should I drop the hook?” Joel called out.

  “Not yet! We need it to come a little closer,” Wilkow shouted. “Chief! She needs to lure him in just a little bit more.” Sydney took a nervous breath and then keyed his transmitter.

  “Meya, come in a little bit more,” he said. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

  “I got this,” she said. She moved the chopper forward, dangling the lure just above the water. The spotlights grew brighter as she neared them. The fish followed, cutting the surface with its spiny dorsal fin. Finally, she was five-hundred feet from the ledge.

  From the ledge, Wilkow watched the fins. He could tell the creature was hesitating after several failures in catching its target. He held a spare radio in hand.

  “Steady,” he said. Without blinking, he kept his eyes on the fin. Finally, it dipped beneath the water. “NOW!”

  Meya pulled up. The chopper climbed just as the bass breached. The lure clipped the top of its head as it was pulled out of range. The fish arched downward into the water, angled toward the ledge. Sydney turned and pointed to Joel.

  “Joel, now! Drop the hook!” he called. Joel pressed the lever, and the weighted hook splashed down. With another pull of the lever, he stopped the hook in place, just under the surface.

  The creature, frustrated and hungry, felt the displacement. Its nostrils picked up the bloody smell, peaking its interest. It slowly moved in to study the potential meal.

  Joel moved another lever, gradually swinging the boom back and forth. The baited hook dragged in the water.

  “I can’t see it,” Joel called out. Logan moved to the patrol vehicle to adjust the spotlight.

  “No, no,” Wilkow said. “Keep the spotlight on the bait. I can see it.” The fish moved closer, continuously to investigate the object. The scent grew stronger as it moved in, and its eyes could see the meat through the illumination. It submerged slightly, and with a flutter of its tail, it shot forward.

  “Here it comes!” Wilkow called. The fish closed its jaws around the hook and turned. Joel lifted the hoist. The cable tightened, followed by a large metallic groan from the crane. The platform shook violently, rocking Joel in his seat. He pulled the lever, elevating the boom.

  “You got him! You got him!” Greene yelled, excitedly.

  The nerves in the creature’s mouth lit up as the hook dug into its mouth. The Carnobass opened its mouth and shook its body. It rotated in a corkscrew motion, shaking the hook from its mouth before it sank deep enough to embed the barb. The cable went slack.

  “Damn it!” Sydney yelled, throwing his fist across the air in anger. Joel started reeling in the cable. The hook lifted above the water. The beef, while ravaged, still hung from it.

  “Relax! We still have the bait!” Wilkow said.

  “Is it still here?” Sydney asked. He scanned the water, but saw nothing indicative of the creature’s presence. He lifted his radio. “Meya? You see anything?”

  “Nothing. Hang on a sec,” she said. Sydney watched the helicopter slowly descend. “Sorry, I was a little high for the radar detection. It’s still here, but it’s starting to move away.”

  “Hang on!” Wilkow said. He ran around to the other side of the crane. The tub of chum mixture was still there. He grabbed a handle on one side. “Somebody give me a hand.” Sydney quickly rushed around the crane and saw Wilkow struggling to move the tub. His first instinct was to ask what the idea was, but he knew time was a critical factor. Sydney grabbed the opposite handle and lifted. Wilkow led the way as they hurried to the ledge. Sydney winced at the pain in his leg, despite his attempts to keep most of his weight on the other. They set the tub down at the edge of the ledge.

  “What exactly is the idea?” Sydney asked. Wilkow popped the lid off, and immediately the horrendous smell spread like invisible wildfire.

  “Giving him a better whiff,” Wilkow said. He tilted the tub. Its contents spilled like a red waterfall into the lake.

  The smell immediately filled the creature’s nostrils. Its brief memory of its previous encounter faded, and its focus was the intriguing scent. The Carnobass turned around again toward shore. Its fin emerged.

  “There he is! He’s back!” Wilkow shouted, pointing. Joel lowered the hook into the bloody froth, and slowly moved it back and forth to stir the water. The fish was once again interested. It moved closer, pausing nearly twenty feet from the hook.

  “He’s gonna go for it,” Sydney said. The fish slowly moved its caudal fin, ready to generate a burst of speed.

  Suddenly, several lights hit the creature. The whole center of the lake illuminated as bright spotlights beamed from multiple approaching boats. Sydney and the others shielded their eyes as the bright lights scanned over the ledge.

  “What the hell?” Sydney said. He could hear several voices calling from out in the lake.

  “There it is!” someone yelled with excitement.

  “It’s mine!” another yelled. Sheriff Logan looked out, squinting through the brightness.

  “Who the hell are these guys?” he said.

  “I have no idea,” Sydney said. He turned and quickly rushed to a patrol vehicle. He opened the trunk and grabbed a bullhorn, then hurried to the ledge.

  “Jesus, Morgan! They have guns!” Meya shrieked over the radio.

  The Carnobass sensed the overabundance of water displacement, and circled around to study the approaching boats. The spotlights focused down on it, illuminating the creature’s greenish hide. Sydney lifted the bullhorn.

  “This is Police Chief Sydney!” His voice boomed as it echoed across the lake. “I order every one of you to vacate the lake. Those who fail to comply will be arrested!” Some of the boats, all of various sizes, spread out, while others grouped up. Most were typical twelve-foot johnboats, while others were a bit bigger. Sydney could hear the rednecks chattering amongst themselves.

  Dave
Culverhouse lifted his AR-15. He focused the sights a few feet ahead of the dorsal fin. Luke sat silent, keeping his hand on the motor handle. The other rednecks argued amongst themselves on who got to shoot the fish. The situation was getting hostile, with tempers quickly escalating. People on neighboring boats shoved each other out of the way, resulting in a few physical confrontations. Finally, it got to the point of pointing guns at each other. These people, who hours earlier had been drinking together in friendship, had now become mortal enemies.

  Dave took advantage of the disorderly behavior. No matter what, that money was going to be HIS. He could see the fin dipping lower into the water as the creature started submerging.

  “Screw it,” he said. He squeezed the trigger, firing the first of many rounds. The bullets hit their mark, cutting through the water and striking the bass on top of its head. The deafening gunshots silenced all arguments. All guns pointed toward the water.

  The creature fluttered from the pricking sensation caused from the bullets cracking its scales. Its curiosity swiftly turned into aggression. The bass targeted the nearest boat. With a flap of its tail, it accelerated with a burst of speed that left the water fizzing behind it.

  The two occupants never knew what hit them as their boat suddenly capsized. Both men were flung from their seats. One landed on the bow of a nearby johnboat, splattering the hull with his brains. The other found himself within the creature’s jaws, and subsequently, its stomach.

  Shouts of fright, disbelief, and determination filled the air. The crackling of multiple gunshots deafened their shouts. They couldn’t see the fish, as it had already disappeared beneath the water, causing the men to aimlessly shoot into the water in hopes of landing a lucky kill shot.

  The bass angled itself upward, quickly picking its next target. It locked its sights and waved its tail, generating another burst of speed.

  A boat in the center of the group flipped, stern over bow. The single occupant catapulted from his seat on the stern, twisting in disjointed motions until he splashed down. All guns turned to the briefly exposed Carnobass, resulting in crossfire. No shooter took regard of the background of his aim. Bullets and pellets shot in all directions.

  Sydney, Logan, Wilkow all dove to the ground as a couple stray rounds zipped overhead. Mayor Greene ran and hid behind one of the vehicles. Joel quickly climbed from the platform and ducked behind the crane.

  “Who are these guys?” he shouted.

  “I don’t know,” Sydney said. “But I’m suspecting that brawl downtown was a diversion.”

  Dave ejected his empty magazine and quickly slapped in a fresh one. As he lifted his firearm, a round struck the upper edge of the bow, creating a deep metallic sound, and a spark. Dave flinched, nearly tripping over his seat. He glanced down at the smoking hole in his boat, then turned his eyes out to the several boats.

  “Hey! Watch it!” he yelled. He didn’t even know specifically who he was yelling at. Nor did anyone likely hear him over the constant gunfire.

  The rednecks focused their blind attack into the water where the fish previously emerged. They reversed their boats away, forming a crooked U-shape formation. Several rednecks cheered like cowboys wrangling cattle. They howled, whooped, and whistled as they shot off their weapons.

  Several of those cheers turned into bloodcurdling screams as a swell of water lifted behind the formation. In a single ramming motion, the bass toppled over multiple boats like an armored car crashing through rush hour traffic.

  One redneck, with an AR-15 illegally converted to full auto, steadied his shaky hands to reload. He watched two of his drinking buddies swim for dear life, only to be sucked into the beast’s massive jaws. After several moments, more swells formed in the water, indicating its presence just below. The swells moved closer to his boat. He jammed the magazine in and aimed. He squeezed the trigger, just as the fish rammed his boat from underneath. With his finger still pressed on the trigger, the redneck fell backward, gun tilting toward the sky. A haze of bullets blasted upward. Some would eventually succumb to gravity and fall back to earth, while others pierced the hull of the hovering helicopter.

  Meya tilted to the side after one of those bullets pierced the left window, barely missing her head. A series of emergency lights flashed. An engine compressor failure alert light came on near the controls. She felt the aircraft shift from side to side. She fought with the controls to regain stability.

  Sydney looked up, seeing the chopper spinning uncontrollably. Without any regard to his own safety, he sprang to his feet. However, there was nothing he could do but hopelessly watch.

  With its blades still spinning, the chopper dropped. Meya felt her harness tighten as the motion lifted her in her seat. Every muscle in her body tensed in the brief moment of the fall. The helicopter smashed down. The windshield shattered, the tail became dislodged, and the hull crumpled inward.

  The rotating blades chopped into the water, striking the bass. Pain jolted its body, and it immediately dove away, trailing blood and broken scales. The blades continued spinning in the water, breaking into razor-sharp fragments. Like shrapnel from a grenade, the fragments flew out above the water in all directions. Once again, Sydney hit the ground as bits of sharp metal passed overhead.

  The shrapnel bombarded the remaining boats. One redneck watched the crash in awe, up to the point where a large section of blade bounced off the water like a skipping stone, and came up to his neck, decapitating him. Another piece embedded itself into the hull of a speedboat. Water seeped inside, and the two hunters on board panicked as their boat started sinking. Their panic increased when they saw a large swell of water nearby, then the face of the twenty-five-foot largemouth. The fish rammed the boat, cracking it in two.

  “Meya!” Sydney shouted. There was no response. He clicked the radio transmitter. “Meya! Are you alright?” There was no response. Logan pushed himself to his feet as well. His eyes went to the nearby patrol boat.

  “Chief, come on!” he called. Sydney ran to the boat, despite his old leg injury flaring up again. He detached the line and hopped on board behind the sheriff. Logan started the engine and quickly throttled the boat toward the helicopter.

  Joel stepped out from behind the crane and gazed upon the crash. The chopper remained afloat, though it was heavily ravaged. He could see from his point of view that the side door was crumpled in, and likely wouldn’t open.

  A thought came to his mind; the jaws of life. He turned and ran to his van. He started the engine and floored the accelerator, immediately pushing the van faster than it had ever gone. Gravel and dust kicked up as it pulled out of the driveway.

  Shockwaves of water rocked Dave’s boat. He struggled to remain standing as the floor beneath him shifted. He fired his rifle at the nearby fish. He could see its entire right side as it passed through the broken speedboat. Several scales were missing behind the gill cover, exposing soft flesh. Dave adjusted his aim and fired. Blood sprayed from the flesh, and the creature turned toward him, as if it knew Dave was the one inflicting harm on it. He squeezed the trigger again, but realized the magazine was empty.

  He threw it down and snatched up the shotgun. He pressed the butt of the weapon to his shoulder, just as the fish lined up to strike. As it sprang forward, he squeezed the trigger. The fish’s right eye exploded into a fountain of red. The Carnobass twisted and turned in the water, flapping its body in a painful hysteria. It submerged.

  Luke nearly turned blue from holding his breath. Every muscle in his body tensed from the intense frenzy that had taken place before him. The water stilled, and his body and mind slowly came to ease. He stood up next to Dave.

  “Did you kill it?” Luke asked. Dave didn’t answer; only chambered the next shell. For several seconds, the water remained calm. Luke felt optimism lift his spirits. If the bass was alive, surely it would attack again. Clearly, it had to be dead. He threw both fists into the air, triumphantly. “Oh yeah! I think you killed it!” He shouted. “Yeah! Woohoo! Thirty grand
, here I come!”

  While he was in mid-sentence, the water along the starboard side sprayed his face as the Carnobass made a leap. Its mouth angled downward, engulfing Luke’s entire body in its descent. Dave felt the boat beneath him plunge into the water, taking him with it. He dropped his weapon and instinctively kicked for the surface.

  He drew a breath, only to immediately realize it would be his last. The bass wasted no time to turn toward him. Swimming along the surface, it hyperextended its jaws, and sped at him.

  “Well shit,” he said to himself, as if accepting defeat. He disappeared into the creature’s gullet.

  ********

  An oil pressure light blinked near the speedometer as Joel steered the van into the Birchwood Lodge parking lot. The engine shook as he shifted the gear in park. Before he could remove the keys, the engine died.

  “Well, I’ve been in the market for a new one anyway,” Joel said as he stepped out. He ran up to the building, and nearly busted down the door to get inside. He hurried into the cleaning station, where his prized jaws-of-life remained on its special table. As Joel grabbed the heavy tool, his eyes turned to his framed Bandolero sword.

  “Ah, what the heck,” he said. He busted the frame and grabbed the custom-made sword by the sheath. He rushed out the door and carried the items to the docks. A speedboat remained, owned by lodge vacationers. Joel climbed aboard and checked the console. The keys remained.

  They probably were in such a panic after the attack, they didn’t think to grab the keys. Whatever the reason, it suited him. He loaded the hydraulic tool, rechargeable battery, and his prized sword into the boat. He started the engine and throttled out.

  ********

  Logan had positioned the patrol boat alongside the downed helicopter. Meya was conscious, thought a bit disoriented. Shattered windshield glass had cut her forehead, and the harness had tightened around her chest and shoulders. Sydney tugged at the door, but it was stuck in place.