by Steve Alten
“Where’s Maggie?” he demanded.
Abby Schwartz sat on deck, monitoring the audio track. “She’s in the tube. We’re getting some great footage.”
“Where’s that director guy?”
Perry looked up. “Right here, Bud. What do you need? I’m kind of busy.”
“Pack up, we’re leaving.”
Perry and Abby looked at one another. “Maybe you ought to speak with Maggie—”
“Maggie doesn’t own this yacht, I do.” He grabbed the makeshift laundry line and tore it down. “This isn’t the SS Minnow. Now where’s Maggie?”
“Take a look.” Perry pointed to the row of monitors.
“Christ ...” A smile broke on Bud’s face. “That looks pretty cool.”
“Hey!” Stu Schwartz held up his hand. “Something’s happening out there. My light meter just jumped. It’s getting brighter.”
*
Maggie saw the glow first, illuminating what remained of the humpback carcass. Then the head appeared, as big as her mother’s mobile home and totally white. She felt her heart pounding in her ears, unable to comprehend the size of the creature that was casually approaching the bait. The snout rubbed against the offering first, tasting it. Then the jaws opened. The first bite was a nibble, the second took her breath away—as the jaws opened into a tunnel, slamming down on a three-ton chunk of blubber.
The mammoth head shook itself loose from its meal, sending a flurry of oil-laced debris swirling in all directions. As the monster chewed, the movement of its powerful jaws sent quivers down its gill slits, ruffling the loose flesh along its neck.
Maggie felt herself drifting to the bottom of the shark tube, unable to move. She was in awe of this magnificent creature, its power, its nobility and grace. She raised her camera slowly, afraid she might scare it off.
*
“Christ, pull her back in!” Bud ordered.
“Are you crazy? This is what we came here for.” Perry was excited. The whole crew was excited … or scared. “What a monster. Goddamn, this is amazing footage!”
“Pull her back in now, Meth,” Bud warned, “or you’ll be joining her.”
Bud’s crew closed ranks around him. The boss meant business.
“Okay, okay, but she’s gonna be mighty pissed off.” The director signaled to his assistant, who activated the winch.
The steel cable snapped to attention as it began dragging the shark cylinder through the water.
*
The Meg stopped feeding, its senses alerted to the sudden movement. Being plastic, the shark tube had not given off any electronic vibrations, and so the predator had ignored it. Now the big female abandoned the carcass, sculling forward to examine this new stimuli.
Maggie’s heart fluttered as the tube suddenly jerked backward through the water. “Hey? What the hell are you assholes doing?”
Bud’s voice came over her headpiece, filtered. “Maggie, you okay?”
“Bud Harris, if you have any desire to touch my naked body again, you’d better stop what you’re doing. Now!”
The Meg rubbed its snout along the curvature of the shark tube, confused. Its head swayed, allowing it to focus on her with its good eye.
It sees me ...
The tube stopped moving.
The Meg’s enormous mouth opened and closed, almost as if it was speaking to her. Then its jaws opened wider, its upper lip receding to reveal a band of pink gums and frightening front rows of teeth, which the monstrous shark attempted to use to bite down upon the cylinder.
The smooth plastic surface slid harmlessly away.
Maggie smiled. “What’s wrong, gorgeous? Too big for ya?”
Regaining her swagger, she repositioned the camera, filming down the shark’s cavernous gullet. “Can you say Ahhh—cademy Award?”
Applause filtered through her headpiece.
Maggie held up her hand, acknowledging the crew’s appreciation.
The Megalodon turned and disappeared into the darkness. Maggie caught a flicker of its caudal fin on film before it vanished into the lead-gray periphery. She took a breath, all smiles.
*
“It moved off,” confirmed Perry.
“Thank Christ,” said Bud. “Okay, get her out of there before it comes back.”
“Ohhhh shit!” yelled Stu, who impulsively backed away from the monitors.
The Meg had circled. It was accelerating at the tube.
Maggie screamed, paddling backwards until her air tank banged against the inside of the tube.
The head of the 62,000-pound prehistoric Great White rotated sideways to align its hyperextended jaws with the tube seconds before—
Whomp!
The bone-jarring impact sent Maggie’s face mask smashing into the interior forward wall of the tube, her head spinning from a concussion wave that would have shattered her skull had she not been underwater.
The cylinder was driven backwards, pinning her to the plastic curvature—all that separated her from being swallowed whole. It smashed against the Magnate’s keel, giving the enraged Megalodon enough leverage to wrap its mouth around its elusive prey, the tips of a few of its teeth catching onto the cylinder’s drainage holes.
The Meg had established a grip, but it could not generate enough power from its hyperextended jaws to crush the maddeningly wide tube.
Frustrated, the beast drove its kill to the surface, the plastic cylinder still locked sideways in its mouth. Swimming away from the Magnate, which it perceived as another challenger, it pushed the tube along the surface, plowing a ten-foot wake.
The spool of steel cable unwound six feet a second, then the entire assembly was wrenched away from the decking. It smashed through the mahogany guard rail and splashed into the sea.
The Megalodon’s upper torso rose vertically out of the Pacific, then, in an unfathomable display of brute strength, it lifted the Lexan tube above the waves.
Water streamed out of the tube’s vent holes, lightening the load as the creature’s head shook it back and forth, left, then right.
Maggie couldn’t hold on. Flopping one way then the next like a lone ball in a tennis can, she smashed sideways into the hatch, the collision denting her air tank.
The effort of supporting the shark tube and its passenger quickly wore down the Megalodon. The female shook her teeth free of the cylinder. The porous tube refilled with water and sank slowly beneath the waves with its badly shaken occupant.
*
Mac’s helicopter soared over the Farallon Islands, hovering high above the luxury yacht anchored off one of the jagged coastlines.
Jonas looked through the night binoculars, zooming in on the deck of the ship. “Wait a minute ... I know that yacht. That’s the Magnate, Bud Harris’s ship.”
“The guy banging your wife?” Mac circled the yacht. “Let’s see if we can take out his satellite dish with my tool chest.”
Jonas pulled the glasses away from his face. “Something’s going on down there, the crew’s in a panic.”
*
Chaos reigned on-board the Magnate. Captain Watson had started the engines, then shut them down, afraid the noise would attract the Meg. Perry was excited, yelling orders to cameramen to climb to the highest point of the yacht to film. Bud was watching by the starboard rail in a state of shock as Stuart and Abby Schwartz continued to try to communicate by radio with Maggie.
When the helicopter appeared, Bud had panicked, thinking it was the Coast Guard, afraid the authorities had come to arrest him because of the humpback carcass.
“Bud!” Captain Watson yelled from the pilothouse, “some guy in that helicopter wants to speak with you. Says his name is Jonas.”
“Jonas?” Bud ran up to the bridge and snatched the radio. “Jonas, it’s not my fault. You know Maggie, she does whatever she wants!”
“Bud, calm down,” commanded Jonas. “What’re you talking about?”
“The Meg. It took her. She’s trapped in that damn shark tube.”
Mac spotted the Megalodon. It was circling in deep water, three hundred yards off the Magnate’s starboard bow.
Jonas focused with the night glasses. He could just make out Maggie’s yellow wetsuit. “I think I see her. Bud, how much air’s left in her tank?”
Perry Meth’s voice filtered over the radio. “No more than five minutes. If you guys can distract the Meg, we could get her out of there.”
Jonas tried to think. What would draw the monster’s attention away from Maggie? The copter?
Then Jonas noticed the motorized raft on the Magnate’s deck.
“Bud, the Zodiac, get it ready to launch,” ordered Jonas. “I’m coming aboard.”
*
Maggie fought to keep from blacking out. Everything hurt, but the pain was good, it kept her conscious. Her face mask had a hairline crack and was leaking seawater into her eyes. The earpiece was buzzing with static. Her ears were ringing, and it hurt to breathe.
The Megalodon continued circling, watching her with its one functional basketball-size blue-gray eye. The glow from its hide cast an eerie light, illuminating Maggie’s wet suit. She checked her air supply again: down to three minutes.
I’ve gotta make a break for it, she told herself, but refused to uncurl from her ball.
*
Jonas clipped the end of his harness to the hoist cable rigged to the chopper’s winch, a radio transmitter and receiver looped around his neck.
Mac passed him the transmitter rifle. “For the record, are you doing this outta love, greed, or some bizarre sense of guilt?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Not at all, I just wanted to know what to say at your funeral.” Mac activated the winch, lowering Jonas to the helo-deck.
Captain Watson ran over to Jonas as he touched down. “Zodiac’s ready to launch. What do you want us to do?”
“I’ll distract the Meg. Once she follows me, get your yacht over to Maggie’s location and get her the hell out of there —fast.”
Watson led Jonas to a motorized raft suspended over the starboard rail. He secured his rifle inside, then climbed in, the captain lowering him eight feet into the sea.
Bud joined them, a headset in his hand. He dropped it over the rail and into the Zodiac. “We’ve reestablished contact with Maggie.”
Jonas positioned it over his ears and then gunned the engine. The rubber raft skimmed across the surface, its outboard engine gurgling a high-pitched whine. He shouted over the headset, “Maggie, can you hear me?”
“Jonas? Is that you?”
“Hang in there, baby, we’ll lead the Meg away. How deep are you?”
“I don’t know, maybe ninety feet. Jonas hurry, my mask cracked, the pressure’s unbearable, and I’m almost out of air.
Jonas cut the distance to Maggie’s tube in half, then switched headsets. “Mac, can you hear me?”
The helicopter was hovering a hundred feet above the Zodiac. “Barely. I’m guessing the Meg hears your engine. She stopped circling ... she’s rising. Jonas, hard to starboard!”
Jonas veered the rudder hard to his right as the Meg’s head and upper torso punched up through the surface, its snapping jaws just missing the raft.
Adjusting his course, Jonas headed for the nearest island.
The albino dorsal fin raced after him, its presence sending elephant seals and sea lions leaping out of the water onto the rocks.
*
The Magnate sprang to life, her twin engines growling as they pushed the yacht ahead.
Unable to breathe, Maggie unlatched the tube’s hatch. Grabbing the underwater camera, she released her weight belt, her buoyant empty air tanks carrying her to the surface as she exhaled slowly, bleeding any nitrogen bubbles from her system.
*
Mac yelled over the headphones as the creature’s snout collided with the back of the Zodiac, “Jonas, move! Zig-zag or something!”
Jonas cut back hard to port, racing for the shallows, nearly shredding the raft’s skin on a jagged rock formation, the seals barking encouragement.
He stole a quick glance over his shoulder.
The fin was gone.
“Mac, where is she?”
“I don’t know. She must have gone deep.”
*
Maggie’s pulse pounded in her ears as she ascended, the surface within view, yet still so far away. She kicked with lead legs, her free hand ripping the mask from her face to save precious seconds.
Finally her head broke the surface and she gasped a deep life-giving breath.
The Magnate was bearing down on her and she waved, treading water as the ship slowed, its port flank coming toward her. She leaped for the aluminum ladder and grabbed hold of a rung, but it was too slick and the boat was still moving too fast to hold on to and she fell away.
The yacht finally stopped moving twenty yards away. Dragging the heavy camera in one hand, she paddled awkwardly with the other to cheers from her production crew.
“Way to go, champ,” yelled Perry.
She paused at the ladder to wave at one of her crew who was filming her from the bow.
“Maggie, get in the goddamn boat!” screamed Bud.
She unlatched her buoyancy vest, allowing the bulky air tank to fall off her shoulders. Unable to climb wearing her flippers, she pulled them off one at a time, then attempted to place her bare right foot on the bottom rung.
Bud was hanging over the side, reaching down. “Dammit, Maggie, come on!”
Maggie felt a wave of exhaustion. “The camera’s too heavy.”
“Then drop it.”
“Not a chance.” Reaching up, she held it over her head, forcing Bud to climb down the ladder to retrieve it.
Grabbing hold of the dripping case, he retreated back up the ladder and handed the underwater camera to Abby Schwartz, who grabbed it in both hands ... and dropped it to the deck, the blood rushing from the sound operator’s face.
Maggie was levitating along the side of the boat as if possessed—her body rising above the mahogany rail, followed by the Megalodon’s ghostly white head right beneath her.
Disoriented, Maggie looked down, shocked to realize she was standing in the creature’s mouth, her bare feet on the sandpaper-like surface of its tongue.
“Bud?”
Caught between the yacht and the creature’s upper torso, the millionaire slipped his body behind the ladder and held on, fighting to keep his trembling body from making contact with the glistening white hide.
The night spun in her vision, the surreal ride peaking as she glanced below at the shocked, horrified faces of her production team.
She was about to chastise her cameraman for having stopped filming when the lower jaw steadily closed in on her midsection, its semi-circle of white, sharp teeth puncturing her wetsuit, which instantly sprouted a warm scarlet blanket of liquid.
With a sudden terrifying lurch, she felt the creature drop like an elevator as a dozen unseen six inch butcher knives punctured her back and ribs and spleen, her lungs heaving hot blood up through her esophagus, gagging her scream as the Meg slipped back into the sea.
Bud was paralyzed in fear, his limbs no longer his to control. Afraid to move, he could only hold on to the ladder and look down.
The keel’s underwater lights illuminated the Megalodon’s head, which remained ten feet beneath the surface. Held within its half-closed jaws was the woman he loved, her face pale in death, her lifeless eyes open, her blonde hair rinsed pink in a crimson bath.
The shark was draining Maggie, inhaling her blood deep into its gullet, the residue streaming out its gills.
Bud choked on his own vomit—until he realized the creature was staring … at him!
The presence of more prey broke the spell. The Meg opened its mouth wider as it rose, creating a vacuum that sucked Maggie into its black vortex and out of sight, expelling a car-size burp of air and blood.
Bud squeezed his eyes shut and waited to die.
Onc
e more the Megalodon’s head broke the surface, its jaws opening to pluck the morsel from its perch—
The heavenly light smashed through the darkness as if guided by the hand of God, the helicopter’s beacon scorching the Meg’s remaining good eye, blinding the female as it sent white-hot waves of pain flooding into her optic lobe.
Convulsing in spasms, the Meg whipped its massive head sideways, bashing it against the port-side of the Magnate, crushing fiberglass—just missing the ladder and Bud Harris.
Standing in the Zodiac, Jonas aimed the rifle and fired, the transmitter dart burying its barbed end into the creature’s snow-white belly.
The agitated beast slammed its head back into the water, generating a tremendous wake which flipped the Zodiac and tossed Jonas overboard. He surfaced, climbing quickly up the aluminum ladder, dragging Bud with him.
The two men were helped on-board, Bud taken below.
Jonas watched Mac’s helicopter as it headed south, the spotlight illuminating the white dorsal fin until it submerged, the Meg racing into deeper waters.
Pulling himself to his feet, he leaned out over the crushed mahogany rail and puked.
Morning Mourning
HE AWOKE IN A STRANGE BED in a musky room. Daylight framed heavy curtains drawn over a window situated above an air conditioner vent.
His head hurt. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten, but the empty beer cans which littered the floor filled in the blanks.
He jumped at the knock on the door. The chambermaid was quick with the pass-key, the chain lock denying her entry. “Housekeeping?”
“Go away!”
The door pulled shut.
He rolled out of bed. Found his way to the bathroom and relieved his bladder. Rinsed his mouth out in the sink, then took stock of his reflection in the mirror.
The three-day-old growth and dark circles under his eyes aged him ten years. He thought about shaving.
Instead, he fished through the small refrigerator.
Most of the good snacks were gone. He debated recalling the chambermaid; instead he settled for a Ginger Ale and a bag of Oreos and climbed back into bed.
