The MEG

by Steve Alten

  A wave of anxiety washed over him with the thought.

  What else is down here?

  Challenger Deep

  D.J.’S VOICE SNAPPED JONAS BACK to the reality of their mission. “Okay, Doc, I’m through. My glider has a tracking device that’ll guide me to the UNIS, so follow me. It’s gonna get very hot as we pass above those black smokers, so be careful. You catch a geyser of superheated water full on and it could melt the seals on your sub’s chassis.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Jonas checked his digital temperature readout: seventy-one degrees Fahrenheit and still climbing as they descended toward the bottom. How hot could it go? How much could the Abyss Glider handle?

  He followed D.J.’s submersible as it wove its way through the blackness, the trailing steel cable occasionally slapping against his nose cone. Water billowed up at them from below, heavy in sulfur, copper, iron, and other minerals that seeped out of the seabed’s cracks.

  Jonas maneuvered his sub between two of the smoking towers, his temperature gauge momentarily rocketed past 230 degrees. He veered hard to port, the maneuver causing him to graze his left wing against the side of another black smoker.

  He chastised his carelessness, his mind teetering on the border of fear and panic. Locate the damaged UNIS, help secure the tow line, and get the hell out of Dodge.

  A chill ran down his spine as he recalled one of the dead scientists using the same phrase on their last dive together.

  The glider passed over massive clusters of tubeworms flowing like clumps of spaghetti in the warm currents. Twelve feet long, five inches thick, the Riftia were being fed on by eelpouts and other small fish.

  D.J.’s sub slowed up ahead. Jonas backed off, careful to maintain a safe distance from the trailing cable.

  “We’re almost there, Doc. Steady on course one-five-zero.”

  Jonas followed D.J.’s sub along the 200-million-year-old sea floor, maneuvering just above a winding highway-sized gully.

  “Doc, I’m getting hit by strong currents, better hold on.” As if on cue, Jonas felt his vessel’s aft end wagging like a dog’s tail. The submersible pitched, its engine fighting to maintain course and speed.

  “There it is.” D.J. announced.

  The shell of the crushed UNIS was buried beneath a pile of mineral debris from the surrounding hydrothermal vents. D.J. positioned his sub above the remains, shining his spotlight over it like a streetlamp. “It’s all yours, Doc.”

  Jonas moved closer to the UNIS, aiming his own spotlight at the robot’s hull as he searched the area for a glimpse of something white. He circled the pile of debris—and there it was!

  “D.J., I can’t believe it, I located that tooth!” Jonas could barely contain his excitement. He extended his sub’s mechanical arm, aiming the claw above the six-and-a-half inch triangular object, carefully lifting it from the pile of minerals.

  Bringing it into his beacon of light, Jonas gazed at the precious object he had traveled seven miles beneath the Pacific Ocean to obtain.

  D.J. laughed. “Doc, that’s not a tooth, it’s an arm from a dead albino starfish.”

  Terry, Frank Heller, and Alphonse DeMarco filled his headphones with laughter.

  Jonas could feel his blood pressure rising. For a long moment, he seriously considered ramming his submersible into the nearest black smoker.

  “I’m sorry for laughing, man,” said D.J., “but you gotta admit, that was pretty funny. The thought of a killer starfish crushing the UNIS—”

  “Enough already.”

  “Okay, okay. Hey, wanna laugh at my stupidity? Take a look at my sub’s mechanical arm.”

  Jonas looked over at D.J.’s sub. The steel cable had wound in a dozen chaotic loops around the six-foot mechanical limb, so much so that the arm was barely visible. “D.J., that’s not funny. You’ve got a lot of untangling to do before you can free yourself to attach the line.”

  “I can handle it. You work on clearing that debris.”

  Jonas lowered his sub’s mechanical arm, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He felt his blood boiling, beads of sweat dripping down his sides. Within minutes, he had managed to clear a third of the debris from the UNIS, exposing several intact eyebolts.

  “Nice job, Doc.” D.J. was slowly revolving the mechanical arm in tight counterclockwise circles. Gradually, the steel cable began freeing itself from around the extended appendage.

  “You need some help?” asked Jonas.

  “No, I’m fine. Stand by.”

  Jonas hovered the Abyss Glider twenty feet off the bottom. Masao had been right, all of them had. He had hallucinated, allowed his imagination to wander, violating a major rule of deep-sea exploration. One mistake, one simple loss of focus, had cost the lives of his crew and his reputation as a submersible pilot.

  What was left for him now?

  He thought about Maggie. She’ll want a divorce, and who could blame her? Jonas was an embarrassment. She had turned to Bud Harris, his own friend, for love and support while Jonas had built his new career on a lie. His triumphant return to the Challenger Deep had merely served as a wake-up call. He had wasted seven years of his life chasing an aberration, destroying his marriage in the process.

  A starfish, for Christ’s sake …

  Blip.

  The sound caught him off-guard. Jonas located his sonar. A red dot had appeared on the abyssal terrain, the source of the disturbance approaching from the west.

  Blip.

  Blip, blip, blip …

  Jonas felt his heart racing. Whatever it was, it was big.

  “D.J., check your sonar.”

  “My sonar? Whoa … what the hell is that?”

  “DeMarco?”

  The engineer had stopped laughing. “We see it too. Has D.J. attached the cable yet?”

  Jonas looked up, the cable nearly free from the other sub’s mechanical arm. “Not yet. How big would you estimate this object to be?”

  “Jonas, relax,” Terry interjected. “We know what you’re thinking. Heller says sonar’s merely detecting a school of fish.”

  “Heller’s a doctor, and not a very good one. Whatever this is, it’s homing in on our location.”

  Jonas took several deep breaths, forcing himself to think. Homing in … it is homing in … on our vibrations.

  “D.J., stop twisting.”

  “Jonas, I’m nearly—”

  “Shut down everything, all systems.”

  “You’re crazy. It’s just a school of fish.”

  “Maybe it is. But if it’s not, it’ll be homing in on the vibrations and electrical impulses from our subs. Kill your power now, dammit.”

  Jonas powered off his sub, then flicked off his exterior lights.

  D.J.’s heart raced. He stopped twisting the mechanical arm. “Al, Jonas just shut down. What should I do?”

  “Taylor’s crazy. Attach the cable and get the hell out of there.”

  “D.J. …” The words caught in his throat, “we have company.”

  D.J. stared into the darkness with his night vision goggles. Something was out there, moving back and forth along the periphery like a caged tiger.

  Jonas drew a quick breath as D.J.’s sub went dark. He kept one hand close to the power switch, the other by his exterior light, both extremities shaking.

  In the silent depths half a football field away he saw the predator.

  There was no doubt. He could see the conical snout, the thick triangular head, the crescent-moon tail. He estimated the Megalodon to be forty-five feet long and 40,000 pounds. Pure white … an albino ghost, just like the giant clams, just like the tubeworms.

  From its lean torso, Jonas guessed the shark was a male.

  D.J.’s voice whispered across the radio. “Okay, Doc, I swear to you, I’m a believer. So what’s your plan?”

  “Stay calm. It’s sizing us up. It’s not sure we’re edible. No movements, we have to be careful not to trigger a response.”

  “Taylor, report.” Hel
ler’s voice ripped through the capsule.

  “Frank, shut up,” whispered Jonas. “We’re being watched.”

  “D.J.?” Terry’s voice whispered over the radio.

  D.J. didn’t respond. He was mesmerized by the frightening creature before him, paralyzed with fear.

  Jonas knew they had only one chance; somehow they had to make it past the hydrothermal plume and back into the frigid open waters. The Meg wouldn’t follow; at least he prayed it wouldn’t.

  It was getting warm. The subs were drifting, the bottom currents pushing them toward a patch of vents. Dripping with sweat, Jonas watched as the monster broke off from its holding pattern to investigate.

  “Doc?”

  “Let it come closer. When I say, blast it with your exterior lights, then head for the plume.”

  “Okay, good.”

  Jonas watched the creature move closer, its massive head moving from side to side, its mouth agape—

  “Now!”

  Jonas and D.J. ignited their exterior lights, blasting 7,500 watts into the creature’s sensitive nocturnal eyes.

  The male whipped its head sideways, retreating back into the darkness.

  The concussion wave from the Meg’s swishing caudal fin struck a second later.

  D.J.’s glider twisted and spun, the steel cable going taut, preventing the mini-sub from drifting farther. Spinning around in a tight one-eighty, the pilot accelerated into a near-vertical ascent.

  Untethered, Jonas’s glider was swept backwards into the side of a three-story-high black smoker, the impact crushing the sub’s propeller shaft and knocking its pilot woozy.

  Jonas felt warm liquid ooze down his forehead seconds before he slipped into unconsciousness.

  The Female

  D.J. TANAKA ACCELERATED HIS Abyss Glider into a steep seventy-degree climb. He ignored the constant barrage of voices begging him to respond, choosing instead to focus on the race at hand. Blood pounded in his ears, but his hands were steady. He knew the stakes were high—life and death. The adrenaline junkie grinned.

  He stole a quick glance over his left shoulder. The albino monster had banked sharply away from the sea floor and was now pursuing him like a guided missile. D.J. estimated he had a two-hundred-foot lead, the frigid waters still a good two to three thousand feet away.

  It was going to be close.

  His sonar beeped louder.

  The depth gauge rose faster.

  Sweat poured from his angular face. “Come on baby, climb!”

  He saw the hydrothermal plume, the ceiling of soot swirling overhead like a maelstrom. The small glider burst through the minerals and debris, the current whipping him sideways as if he were caught by a tornado—and then he burst free into the frigid open waters.

  D.J. looked back over his shoulder. The Megalodon was nowhere in sight. He checked his exterior temperature gauge. Thirty-two degrees.

  Made it ...

  The glow of the albino’s hide in his light registered in D.J.’s vision a split second before the gargantuan mouth exploded sideways into the submersible. Spinning upside down, D.J. tried to scream, the sickening crunch of ceramic and Lexan popping in his ears as his skull imploded, splattering his brains across the shattering cockpit glass.

  *

  The Megalodon snorted the warm blood into its nostrils, its entire sensory system quivering in delight. It rammed its snout farther into the tight chamber, but was unable to reach the remains of D.J. Tanaka’s upper torso.

  Clutching its crippled prey within its jaws, the male descended back into the warm currents, guarding its kill.

  *

  Jonas Taylor opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, the glider upside-down. Seeing nothing, he fumbled around the inverted submersible until he located the night vision glasses.

  One lens was cracked, the other intact. Through the olive-green world he saw tubeworms dancing around his Lexan bow like alabaster serpents. He attempted to move—stifled by a sharp pain that shot up his leg. His foot was caught on something. He worked it loose and turned his body. A warm liquid drained into his eye. He wiped it away, realizing it was blood.

  How long have I been out?

  Disoriented, he reached above his head and groped for the power switch, but nothing happened. He tried the radio … dead.

  The enormity of his circumstances caused his body to convulse. He was trapped in a powerless sub, resting beneath 35,000 feet of water.

  Then he remembered the Megalodon.

  He saw something in the distance—a soft glow of light. The male was swimming slowly toward the sea floor, a dark object dangling between its upper jaw and snout.

  “D.J. …” The crippled submersible was lodged in the predator’s jaws, the light from the starboard mid-wing somehow still shining. He caught a glimpse of the steel tow line, the slack now looping and winding itself around the Megalodon’s torso.

  *

  Frank Heller sat in his chair, staring at his monitors. “Taylor’s bio signs just jumped. He’s conscious again and his numbers are all in the red. I’m not getting any readings from D.J. Mackreides, what are you getting on the subs’ diagnostics?”

  “D.J.’s sub is running on emergency power, circling six hundred feet over the second glider, which is lying on the bottom, powerless.”

  Terry continued in vain to make radio contact. “D.J., can you hear me? Jonas, report.”

  DeMarco was speaking rapidly with Leon Barre over an internal phone line. The captain and his crew were stationed in the stern, manning the A-frame’s massive winch.

  “Frank, Leon says there’s movement registering on the steel cable. D.J.’s sub is still attached.”

  Heller turned to Terry. “I’m guessing Taylor screwed up and got too close to a black smoker, frying his engine. Being the team player he is, D.J. refuses to leave him. But if he’s on emergency power then we need to bring him up before his life support system shuts down.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Terry asked.

  “We tow him up by the steel cable.”

  Mac spun around in his chair. “What about Jonas?”

  “His primary batteries are intact. If he remembers how to engage the emergency pod, then he’ll survive. If not, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Terry looked to DeMarco, who nodded.

  “Do it. Tow D.J. to the surface as fast as you can.”

  *

  Jonas held his breath, watching as the male passed seventy feet directly overhead, its belly quivering as its jaws opened and closed. The ravenous predator continued to prod its snout into the remains of the submersible, but could not gain enough leverage to access the gushing meat wedged inside.

  The creature’s attention was focused on D.J.’s bloody remains, unaware that the cable was going taut, the slack being rapidly taken in from above.

  Seconds later, the steel line bit into the monster’s white hide, pinching back the shark’s pectoral fins.

  The cable’s crushing embrace sent the male Megalodon into spasms. It spun its torso in a fit of rage, whipping its caudal fin to and fro in a futile attempt to free itself. The more it fought, the more entangled it became.

  Jonas stared in helpless fascination as the Meg fought in vain, unable to release itself from the steel bonds. With its pectoral fins pinned to its side, it couldn’t stabilize itself. Shaking its monstrous head from side to side, it released powerful concussion waves that rocked Jonas’s sub.

  After several minutes, the predator stopped thrashing, exhausted. Within the entanglement of steel cable, the only sign of life came from the occasional flutter of its gills. Slowly, the Kiku’s winch began hauling the entrapped creature toward the frigid waters above.

  The dying male thrashed again, its movements sending telltale signals of distress throughout the Challenger Deep.

  Miles away, a much larger predator moved through the abyss, homing in on the vibrations.

  *

  The female had been stalking a school of squid w
hen the vibrations had reached its lateral line. Instinctively, it knew it was the adult male—by its elevated heart beat and movements it appeared to be under duress.

  Abandoning the squid, it went after its mate.

  *

  Jonas waited, lying in a puddle of his own sweat. The moment the Meg disappeared above the hydrothermal plume, he would activate the emergency release, causing small charges to detonate around the sub’s chassis, separating his internal pod from the rest of his vessel. The buoyant Lexan egg would rise quickly, returning him to the surface in a few hours.

  If he was lucky his air would not run out.

  It appeared out of nowhere, sweeping directly over his inverted sub, its deathly glow illuminated by the emergency light situated along his keel.

  The underside of a triangular snout appeared first, peppered with the dark pores of its ampullae of Lorenzini. The lower jaw was next, followed by the gill slits and the underside of the monster’s massive pectoral fins, which revealed a nasty half-moon-shaped bite scar along the Megalodon’s left limb—evidence of a violent act of reproduction. The distended stomach and the female’s lacerated cloaca confirmed both the creature’s sex and its unborn young.

  The female was at least fifteen feet longer than its mate and possessed twice its girth, the monster weighing well over thirty tons. As she passed, a quick flurry from her caudal fin created a powerful concussion wave that sliced through the tubeworms and lifted the damaged sub off the sea floor.

  Jonas braced himself as the AG II flipped twice before settling in a cloud of silt. He pressed his face to the nose cone and, as the muck settled, saw the female rise toward the male, which was still struggling to free itself from the steel cable.

  The female circled warily, her nostrils inhaling the remnants of D.J.’s blood. Suddenly she turned, driving her hyperextended jaws around the soft underbelly of her former mate.

  The colossal impact drove the smaller Megalodon fifty feet upward. Rows of six-inch serrated teeth ripped open the male’s pale white hide, the female whipping its monstrous head from side to side until it tore away a seven hundred pound mouthful of flesh and muscle, exposing the mortally wounded male’s stomach and intestines.