by Michael Cole
To make matters worse, there was the unmistakable odor of gasoline. Fuel leaked from the fuel line, floating all around the chopper.
“Damn it, it’s jammed!” he roared. Logan stepped in his place and tried tugging at the door, making no more progress than Sydney. Meya cupped her hand over a cut on her head. Finally, her senses returned to her. She unclipped her harness and tried opening the door from the inside. She did her best to keep her composure, believing they would free her from the entrapment. She looked up from the handle to see Sydney, but her eyes immediately went to the large bulk in the water behind them.
“Look out!” she screamed. Sydney and Logan turned, just in time to see the Carnobass ram the port quarter. Their shuddering boat was knocked into the floating helicopter, rocking both in the water. Logan fell to his knees, while Sydney barely clung to the edge. He pushed himself off and grabbed the throttle. He accelerated the boat forward, drawing the fish away from Meya. Logan saw the Carnobass emerging behind them. He drew his Glock and fired. The bass rammed the stern, crushing the propellers. The boat stalled.
“Shit!” Sydney exclaimed. He drew his sidearm and joined Logan at the stern. They both fired into the water, but the fish submerged again. “Come out, you damn coward!” he yelled.
As if in response, the bass jumped from the water. Sydney and Logan looked up, and saw its huge mass falling down on top of their boat. It landed on its stomach, directly across the center of the boat. The console was crushed, the deck splintered, and the bow and stern bent upward. Both officers grabbed the stern rail to keep from falling. The creature’s weight pushed the boat down. Water quickly seeped over the sides, coming up to their ankles.
Sydney and Logan emptied their magazines into the beast. A few rounds found their way into exposed flesh, while the rest mushroomed against the solid scales. Red strands of flesh dangled from its ravaged right eye, which still seemed to look right at them.
The water was just below their waists. Out of ammunition, Sydney looked down at the various floating objects around him, desperate for anything he could fight with. His foot bumped something solid. A metal box. He reached down and picked it up. Inside was a flare gun and a single flare, mandatory for maritime first responder vessels to carry.
“Oh, what the hell,” he said. He jammed the cartridge in and pointed the orange gun at the creature, aiming for the hole in its eye.
“Howdy!” they heard a voice call from behind. They recognized the sound of a speedboat motor and turned around. Without pulling the trigger, Sydney turned around, as Joel pulled the speedboat alongside their sinking patrol boat. “Hurry up!” he called to them. Sydney and Logan ran in the water, practically swimming at this point, and climbed over the side of the speedboat.
Joel saw the fish wiggling free of the boat, about to submerge again. There was no doubt it would immediately try to sink the speedboat before they could rescue Meya. There was only one thing to do. He unsheathed his sword, and clutched the handle with both hands. The three-foot blade glistened in the moonlight.
With a foot on the edge of the bow, he jumped clear of the speedboat, blade pointed downward. Sydney watched in amazement as Joel landed on the fish, perfectly sinking the blade into the flesh behind its gill cover. He clung to the handle as the fish writhed in the water. Its nerves lit up, and sensed the presence of the attacker clinging to its blindside.
“Joel! What the hell are you doing?” Sydney yelled. Joel took a breath as the creature rolled over like a huge barrel. Still hanging on to the blade handle, he resurfaced.
“Having more fun than I’ve had in years!” he called out. “Get your lady! I’ll keep this guy busy!”
“He’s insane!” Logan said.
“Maybe,” Sydney said. He grabbed the helm of the boat. “But I’m trusting him.” He drove the boat to the chopper.
Joel drew a breath as the creature made a dive. His body hovered freely over its left side as he clung to the sword. He felt like a diver riding alongside a dolphin by clutching its fin. Only, he wasn’t riding with a friendly mammal; this was a bloodthirsty fish in the middle of a mad feeding frenzy. The creature bounced off the lake bottom, then arched upward. It fluttered its tail and shot toward the surface. It leapt several feet into the air, flapping its fins and tail. The sword dislodged, and Joel fell off and landed into the water. The creature landed several meters away, generating an enormous splash.
Still holding the sword, Joel surfaced. He saw the distortion in the water nearby. The fish was moving toward him. He saw its head directly in front of him. The jaws opened wide, and the gills flared. Joel felt himself sucked underneath the water, into the creature’s mouth. Oh, hell no! he thought. This was not how he was going out. Just as he entered the jaws, he shoved the blade directly upward. It pierced the roof of the mouth. Joel could feet his feet touching the back of the creature’s throat as he hung on. The jaws slammed shut, leaving him in complete darkness.
The Carnobass turned and rolled, unable to comprehend what was going wrong in its mouth. With its nerves firing, the creature swam aimlessly. Joel felt his whole body quake as the creature blindly crashed into the ledge. It hung in the water, stunned for a moment. Finally, it gave up on trying to swallow its meal. It opened its jaws and swung its head. Joel dislodged the sword just as he was spewed from the jaws.
After he drew a breath, he looked around him while kicking his feet to stay afloat. The crane hook was nearly thirty feet from him, just touching the water. Without hesitating, he swam for it.
The bass continued swimming in mad circles, twisting its body as if it was still trying to get rid of the foreign object in its mouth. Finally, it came to a stop. It flapped its gills to circulate oxygen. Its nostrils picked up numerous smells, including that of its own blood.
Joel grabbed the cable above the hook and rested his foot on the beef. He stood straight up, water up to his thighs. He looked back to the crane.
Wilkow made eye contact with Joel. Without either of them saying a word, he understood the plan. Wilkow climbed into the platform, and placed his hands on the levers. He looked through the windshield and nodded at Joel.
Joel looked for any disruption in the water. The lake had calmed down, but his gut instinct told him it was still nearby. Clinging to the cable with one hand, and holding his sword with the other, he clanged the blade against the metal hook. He smacked it again, and again, sending metallic echoes underneath the water.
The creature’s lateral line sensed the vibration. Having recovered some of its energy, it curiously turned toward the source of the noise.
Using the jaws-of-life, Sydney and Logan tore the door off the helicopter cockpit. Sydney reached inside, embracing Meya as he pulled her from the seat. The feeling of solid decking under her feet was a welcome one. Logan stepped to the console and began steering the boat to the ledge. Hugging Sydney, Meya looked up over his shoulder. She saw Joel standing on the hook. Fifty feet ahead of him, the creature broke the surface. It came at him, jaws extended once again.
Meya shrieked and cupped her hands over her mouth. Sydney turned and watched in horror.
Joel didn’t blink as the Carnobass closed the distance. He measured the gap in his mind. Forty feet, thirty, twenty…okay now. He dove down and paddled as hard as he ever had in his sixty-one years of life. The Carnobass passed overhead, biting down on the hook and instinctively turning to run with its “prey.” The hook sank into the side of its mouth. Wilkow applied the footbrake, and the cable went taut. The hook sank deeper, embedding the barb.
Seeing Joel surface, Logan turned the speedboat in his direction. Sydney and Meya both reached down and grabbed him by the wrists. Joel nearly fell onto the deck, all of his energy spent.
“So, did you have your fun?” Sydney said. Joel laughed weakly, which turned into a cough.
“I’m definitely not as young as I once was,” he said.
Logan turned the boat toward shore. He didn’t bother pulling it up to the dock. Instead, he simply line
d it up with the ledge. All four occupants climbed over the starboard side, onto the safety of the ledge.
“HEEELLLL YEEEAAAHHH!” Wilkow shouted as the creature fought against the crane. “Now THIS is fishing!” The crane shook as the Carnobass tugged relentlessly. He manipulated the lever to lift the main hoist. The joints and gears groaned, and smoke started billowing from the friction at the upper sheave. The fish fought against the tension, turning left and right to free itself from the unknown force driving it back.
“Hold on,” Joel said to Wilkow. “It’s causing too much stress.”
“Well, what else can we do?” Wilkow said. Sydney watched the position of the fish, then looked to the downed chopper. An idea came to mind. It would be a bit unorthodox, but it would get the job done.
“Can you give it some slack, and use the boom to direct it to the chopper?”
“Ummm…yes,” Wilkow said. It was both an answer and a question.
“Do it,” Sydney said. Logan, Joel, and Meya looked at him with questioning eyes. Sydney held up a souvenir from the sunken patrol boat; the orange flare gun. Wilkow eased the tension on the cable, and swung the arm of the crane right. The creature gradually moved outward. It dove deep, but exhaustion was consuming its body. Before long, it surfaced again. A force unknown to it pulled it to the right.
The tension continued easing up. The bass, exhausted and half blind, unknowingly bumped into the chopper. Confused, it started ramming the inanimate object.
“Okay, it’s there!” Wilkow said. Sydney stepped to the ledge, and pointed the weapon outward. Before pulling the trigger, he glanced back at his team.
“Don’t know about you guys, but I prefer my fish barbequed.” He aimed the flare gun, and squeezed the trigger. A ball of orange fire shot from the barrel, and hooked down perfectly into the water beside the chopper. The fuel in the water ignited, searing the fish. The fire followed the trail of fuel, eventually reaching the fuel tank. The several remaining gallons lit at once, resulting in a large explosion. The chopper transformed into a massive ball of fire. Heat scorched the creature, while the shockwave displaced every major organ in its body.
The creature’s lifeless body floated briefly beside the burning chopper, until its body weight sank it beneath the flames.
Sydney lowered the flare gun after watching the life fad from the beast. That’s for Tim.
Everyone stood by him at the ledge, amazed at the sight. Each person was exhausted, even Wilkow. Mayor Greene, shaking from intense fright, finally emerged from his hiding place behind the vehicles, and joined the others.
“Damn,” he said. He blew a sigh of relief.
“I think I’m done hunting professionally,” Joel said. He arched his back to stretch as every muscle ached.
“Me too,” Sydney said. Meya put her arms around him and they held each other close.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“I don’t know about you guys,” Sydney said, “but I’m going to bed. Let the Sheriff’s Department handle this one.” Logan grinned and gave a thumbs-up.
“I think that’s a good start,” Meya said. She pressed her lips to Sydney’s, and they slowly walked to his Jeep. With her, the pain in his leg didn’t hurt so much.
EPILOGUE
Several days had passed after the chaotic incident at Hampton’s Ledge that left many dead. Reports flooded the newspapers with the circumstances of the events. One headline wrote of the arrest of Jimmie Stanton, who orchestrated the event that interrupted a major operation to kill the creature.
Sitting in his home living room, Mike Wilkow glanced at the newspaper headline before tossing it aside. He returned to his laptop, and opened his Microsoft Word document, which contained his detailed analysis on the origins of the Carnobass, and the underground world from where it came.
A knock on his door grabbed his attention. He groaned, believing it to be television reporters wanting to commence another interview. For days, they had been bothering him. He saved the document and closed the laptop. He stood up and opened the door.
“Hey guys, I’ve already told you…whoa!” He exclaimed as he saw Dr. Nevers standing in front of him. Behind him were several men, all wearing sunglasses and black suits. “Hey there, Doc…Dean!” Wilkow said. “You didn’t notify the Secret Service about that credit card thing, did you? I told you I was gonna pay that back.” Dr. Nevers smiled.
“Not quite, he said. “These men are actually here to work for you.” Wilkow stared at him, confused.
“I beg your pardon?” he questioned, cocking his head to the side. Dr. Nevers stepped inside.
“Dr. Wilkow, your research is surprisingly extraordinary. I’ve taken it upon myself, with the help of other esteemed scientists, and more importantly, government funders, to start our new special project. N.E.C.T.O.R.” Wilkow stared, bewildered. For Dr. Nevers, it was perhaps the first time he saw the eccentric scientist neglect to respond with any witty remark. “That underground lake you discovered…we’re gonna see what else is down there.”
Dr. Nevers turned around and started walking back to the cars. He looked back over his shoulder at Wilkow.
“You coming?”
The End
Read on for a free sample of Blood River.
PROLOGUE
Indonesia Province of Papuas: Wairoku Village along the River Eilanden -- 1982
Oom and Kota walked surefooted through the forest. Their bare feet were calloused like shoe leather. They were naked, but had their penises pushed back into their bodies and their testicals cupped and wrapped with a leaf. Both men were dark skinned, in their late teens, and married with children. They each carried an empty bucket in one hand and a well-crafted walking stick in the other. The walk was second nature to them. They still knew to be mindful while they talked.
Their conversation was no different from what was being talked about back in the village. Rumors and guesses ran rampant. Susilo, older than Oom and Kota, was close to death. The illness that racked his body came out of nowhere and left him in bed in his hut for weeks. Weak and feverish, Susilo was unable to keep food down. The first several days he had spent on his knees vomiting. His wife gave him wet-cloth baths in bed and made sure he was never alone when awake, putting off other responsibilities. until Susilo fell asleep. Caring for her husband was her first priority. No one would fault her for work left until later. It always got done. Just not at the same time everyone else did similar chores. The last several days his wife did not even attempt to feed him. There seemed no point. He remained on his back moaning, and when he talked, it was incoherent.
It was only a matter of time before Susilo died. While the disease he suffered from came on him unexpectedly, the symptoms had been seen many times before. Witchcraft was at the root of the fever. Before dying, Susilo would have a vision. In it, he would get a clear look at the Khakhua who cursed him. Then, with his last breaths, he’d have enough air in his lungs to expose the witch among them.
Both Oom and Kota knew better than to voice suspicions while in the village. Out in the forest, it was different. Inseparable since they were infants and best friends while growing up, the two felt safe talking about matters that should never be discussed. They trusted each other. They were closer than most brothers in the tribe.
Setting sunlight spliced through random breaks in the uneven canopy. Rays focused on concise areas of ground vegetation. Kota barely heard the constant squawk of parrots bickering back and forth. It was an evening ritual and you either learned to ignore the penetrating sound, or risked going mad from listening.
Although the Wairoku village was not far from the river, the walk taking mere minutes, Oom and Kota remained always aware. Dangers surrounded them every step of the way, the most obvious being wild boar. Being crepuscular and omnivorous, evening is when they were known to be hunting for food. With sharp tusks, a muscular build and bulky size, they were a threat to most anyone. At up to seven feet long, and between five and seven hundred pounds, a solit
ary male --if it felt cornered, or threatened-- could kill a person or easily injure a group of people.
Boars were not the only threat in the surrounding and dense rainforest. The Papuan Black and the Taipan snakes thrived in the jungle. Whether they wrapped their 8-foot muscular bodies around low hanging tree branches, or sat coiled in hiding on a rock on the ground, or concealed under Selaginella and Elatostema leafs, they seemed always on the defense and poised to strike. The poison from either would kill a man within hours.
There were additional dangers that intensified once the sun set. Despite the crocodiles that littered the riverbanks, there were also poisonous spiders that wove sticky webs all over the forest. Worse still, Oom and Kota stayed ever on the look out for Yakti tribesmen.
The Yakti were known for brutality that often escalated into unexpected headhunting raids. The walking sticks Oom and Kota carried might keep the men from stepping on a coiled snake, but were limited weapons against the Yakti who were armed with bows and barbed arrows, poison-dipped blow darts, and stone hatchets.
Then, of course, there were all the Wairoku who disappeared during the night and who were never seen again. What exactly happened to them, no one knew for sure.
***
The walk from the village to the river, despite all the apparent and inherent dangers, was a time to get away, a break from everything else. Oom and Kota relished the peace. It allowed them time alone, away from their wives and children. The walk to fill baskets with water for the evening should take half an hour at most. The brothers were sometimes gone for over an hour. They would sit by the swift running water and talk of important things, trivial topics, or remain silent and just bathe in the animated sounds of night creature conversations.
