Mount Misery

by Angelo Peluso

  Rick was still in water up to his waist as the pod approached to within three hundred yards of his position. Although he was only ten yards from shore, the angle of the bottom was steep and dropped off quickly. Ten yards on land could be sprinted in quick order but the resistance of waist-deep water rendered the task of walking ashore a much more demanding effort.

  Rick called out once again for Katie to wait for him. She stopped and turned toward him, but in the darkness Rick could not see her clearly. He could barely make out her partial silhouette framed by moonlight. Rick quickly turned back around to face the open Sound. He sensed something very peculiar. He had always believed he had a throwback survival gene to Neanderthal ancestors and that is what made him a good outdoorsman. Often while hunting, Rick would sense game well before it sensed him. And when fishing unfamiliar water, he always knew where to cast, where the fish would be. He could enter a strange woodlot or be placed in the middle of a large body of water and he would find his way. To Rick, it was as if he was blessed with a primitive sixth sense for survival, and now his instincts sensed very real and immediate danger.

  The hunting pack was closing in on him at astounding speed when Katie saw the yellow glow of aberrant eyes. She screamed loud enough to wake the dead as her eyes followed dozens of glowing yellow orbs moving through the water straight toward Rick. He saw them too and turned back toward the beach. With a forceful running motion, Rick plowed through the water. It was five yards to the safety of the sand. Katie ran toward him. The fish could now see their target clearly and zoned in on the large prey. Rick was in thigh high water pushing forward hard with all his strength and endurance.

  “Hurry, Rick! Hurry!” Katie screamed. “They’re right behind you!”

  Rick felt an easing of resistance as he crested the top of the trough and was calf-high in water.

  “Rick, jump! Jump!”

  With all the strength his legs could muster, and with fear as a propellant, Rick leapt from the water as the massive snapping jaws of the alpha male took dead aim. He felt something brush his leg as he went airborne. Rick landed on the beach just inches from the edge of the surf. The abnormally large head of the creature landed along side of him, snapping mouth agape and full of stiletto teeth. The animal was partially in the water with half its body alongside Rick’s. Katie grabbed a piece of baseball-bat sized driftwood and threw it at the fish to distract it. It struck the killer’s mouth and was instantly chopped in half by the rapidly opening and closing vise-grip jaws. Rick scurried up the beach as the fish tried to grab hold of his leg. He reached for a large rock to bash its head, but as he did, the monster slid back into the water and disappeared. Katie and Rick watched in horror as glowing yellow eyes streaked back and forth parallel to the beach, a sign of an agitated pack of fish looking for another chance at their meal.

  “What the fuck was that?” Rick finally blurted as his composure and heartbeat returned to normal.

  “I don’t know, Rick. I didn’t get a very good look at it but whatever it was it was big and grotesque and it came within inches of grabbing you. It appeared to be some kind of fish. And what was with those eyes?”

  “Do you think that was them, the fish you’re looking for?”

  “Rick, when was the last time a fish from the Long Island Sound tried to eat you? You tell me. Was that them?”

  “Holy shit, Katie, that thing had a mouth like a garbage can with chain-saw teeth. It had to be six, seven feet long at least. If that is what we’re up against, we have one hell of a big problem. There had to be a dozen of those things swimming together.”

  “You know, I told you not to go in the fucking water. You asshole!”

  “Do you really think they were some monster fish?”

  “You are impossible, Rick. Did you see the rest of the pack? I have no idea what kind of fish they were. I’ve never seen anything like those glowing eyes.”

  As Katie spoke, Rick turned his attention back to the water and noticed something reflecting faintly in the moonlight. He moved toward the shining object. It was embedded in one half of the driftwood that Katie tossed at the creature.

  “Whoa, Katie, look at this. It’s a tooth . . . a big mother of a tooth!”

  Katie examined the find and all she could think of was DNA.

  “DNA could be extracted from the root pulp of a well-preserved tooth. And this tooth is complete and as fresh as they come.”

  Katie’s fear and anger instantly turned to excitement as she realized the significance of what was in her hand.

  “Rick, this could be the smoking gun we have been looking for. This tooth gives us the ability to compare the bites to the Smith’s Bay body parts against the bite impression in the driftwood. We also can extract DNA from it and find out once and for all what these fish are. I need to call Karen Hammond at Riverstone National Labs. We need to get this tooth analyzed immediately.”

  “Katie, it’s one-thirty in the morning. I don’t think Karen would be at her desk just yet.”

  “We’ll deal with the tooth first thing the morning.”

  “Fine. Let’s get out of here. This beach has me creeped.”

  The killer pack wasn’t done. They still needed to eat. Having expended excessive amounts of energy in their unsuccessful attempt to kill Rick, they were agitated and they were in need of food. The one cardinal rule of predatory hunting is to consume more caloric value than the energy burned to capture a meal. The alpha male and his marauding mutants violated that tenet of the wild and now they had to find sustenance. The pod resumed the hunt, staying close to shore. It was during the hours of darkness inshore waters become alive with many feeding fish that feel secure in darkness, roaming the edge between land and sea. The pack would use those feeding behaviors to their advantage.

  Large striped bass, weakfish, and other fish venture into the shallows during this period to feed, unmolested by other predators or humans. Large bass of thirty pounds or more have very few natural enemies in the Sound but tonight would be different. A school of big striped bass had locked in on an even larger school of Atlantic menhaden. The bass had the bunker corralled in a u-shaped indentation in the contour of the beach. To put it mildly, what transpired along that stretch of surf was nothing less than a massacre. Bass tore into bunker from every direction. The lucky menhaden were swallowed whole, while others were pounced upon and slapped by the powerful tails of huge bass. Tail swipes dazed the bunker, allowing their pursuers to ingest them at a more leisurely pace.

  The feeding attracted the attention of the killers. The scent of death and the vibrations from struggling prey and attacking bass acted like homing signals. The alpha male and his pack were about two miles from Plover Dunes where the bass blitz was taking place; they could already sense the life-and-death struggle. The killers traveled at a sustained speed of thirty-five miles an hour with bursts up to sixty, all the while their senses attuned to the stimulating signals from the bass and bunker confrontation. It didn’t take long for the pod to reach the melee. They wasted no time and charged indiscriminately into the mix, jaws snapping wildly as teeth slashed at every living thing in their path. But it was the large bass upon which their sights had been fixed.

  The alpha male was the first to tear into a cluster of feeding stripers, biting the lower third tail section of a bass clean off a forty-five-pound fish that had just consumed an equally ill-fated bunker. Other killers did the same. With the tails severed, they couldn’t escape; they just struggled and slowly descended in the water column. And with their prey incapacitated, the assassins attacked and consumed their victims without having to chase them down. Within a heartbeat, the bass had endured the same end as their prey. The doomed fish struggled to maintain equilibrium as blood emptied from gaping wounds and entrails flowed like the tentacles of an octopus.

  The big alpha male was completely aroused by the slaughter and death that surrounded him and, with lightning speed, he turned to bite yet another bass in half. He swallowed the largest section of f
ish and then targeted another victim. The entire pack was in a crazed state of feeding fury. By the end of the carnage, the entire school of large bass had been obliterated. The marauders were temporarily satiated but they would feed again as they greeted the false dawn.

  CHAPTER 23

  Katie awoke early. She had succumbed to conflicting emotions the night before but was so relieved Rick hadn't been killed that she felt compelled to make love to him. After all the exhausting pleasure, she had trouble sleeping, while Rick was sound asleep. All that Katie had on her mind were the origins of the fish tooth. She was eager to call her friend Karen at the lab to get DNA confirmation of what it was that attacked Rick on the beach. Katie was optimistic that a major part of the puzzle would be solved with an analysis of the tooth. But after witnessing what tried to kill Rick, Katie was also more certain than ever that she was facing a problem of monumental proportions.

  Katie showered and then put on a pot of coffee. She once again re-examined the piece of wood containing the tooth. Katie looked at the wall clock in the kitchen . . . 6:45 a.m. It was still way too early to call Karen. But it wasn’t too early for her phone to ring. Who the hell is calling me at this time of morning?

  It was Katie’s boss, Ted Gunther.

  “Katie, you need to get to Plover Dunes, ASAP! The sand is littered with the heads and mutilated bodies of huge striped bass. The entire town is freaking out. Some early morning beach joggers sounded the alarm. Enforcement dispatched a team of officers to see if it might have been the result of poachers but that is not what’s been reported back. All the heads appear to have been bitten off, not severed with a knife. I got a bad feeling these bass and your cases are connected.”

  “Ted, I have a hot lead I’m working on this morning. I really need to follow this up. Can’t this wait? Can Nick do it alone?”

  “No, Katie. I need another set of eyes and ears. This might be a media event and I need you to help Nick put a lid on it if things get out of control. You need to buy me a little more time.”

  “Ted, we found a tooth last night that came from a fish that tried to attack Rick west of Plover Dunes. I think this is the best lead we have to solving this whole mess.”

  “What tried to attack Rick last night? What have you been up to, Katie?”

  “I was on the beach when a pack of enormous fish came in while Rick was wading ashore. They tried to kill him. Or at least one did. Ted, it almost got him. We got a look at it and we got a tooth. I think these may be the killer fish and I can prove it with DNA from the tooth.”

  “Katie, get over to Plover Dunes now. Figure out that scene first, then go deal with the tooth. I’ll let county PD know you are on the way. And let me know what you find. I have to brief the director first thing this morning. And keep what you find quiet until we can figure out a PR angle. If the police or other emergency services types ask just deflect the question and say that you need more time to evaluate the situation. Okay?”

  “Give me some credit, Ted. I think I can handle the bureaucrats and press well enough. I know what to say.”

  “Fine. Call me when you assess the situation at the beach. Bye.”

  “Rick, get up. I gotta go. Where are the keys to your truck?”

  “What’s the matter, Katie? What are you doing? It’s early and I’m not going fishing today. Let me sleep.”

  “I have to go over to Plover Dunes. There’s a pile of striped bass heads and bodies on the beach and people are in a panic about it.”

  “Striped bass heads? Maybe someone was just cleaning fish? There are a lot of folks who fish that beach at night. Maybe they hit the bite just right. There’s been a pile of big bass in the area recently. Maybe even poachers?”

  “I don’t think so, Rick. Sounds more like a massacre from what Ted just told me. I gotta get there right away.”

  “Hang on . . . Give me a minute to shower and get a cup of java and I’ll drive you.”

  “Okay. But hurry. The faster we do that, the faster I can call Karen and get this tooth to the lab.”

  As Rick showered, Katie paced the floor of the den. Her mind raced a mile a minute. Bass heads, she thought. If the fish that tried to eat Rick had elevated levels of chemical stimulants in their bodies, the result of their failed attempt to kill Rick, they would have been one pissed off pack . . . agitated, hungry, and aggressive. They obviously had continued their hunt and came upon the feeding bass. For the killer fish, it would be like finding the mother lode. That had to be it. Rick escaped but the bass were slaughtered in his place. It made sense; it was a very natural predator response to the hunger drive.

  “Rick, are you almost done? We gotta get going.”

  “Just a minute. Brushing my teeth. Pour me a cup of coffee, please.”

  It was just about a twenty-minute drive from Rick’s place in Port Roosevelt to the Plover Dunes. They took Rick’s Ford F-250 pickup and drove out on Route 28, against the westbound commuter traffic headed to work and toward the city. Rick pointed to a development off to the right-hand side of the road and began to reminisce. “Katie, when I was a kid growing up, those condos were a peach farm. I used to hunt quail and woodcock back in there with my first lab, Santee. She was a great gun dog. Boy, do I ever miss that. Progress, I guess. That’s what they call it, right? Build something on every postage stamp-size piece of Long Island. The only escape around these parts now is the Sound. And that is slowly but surely being screwed up too. With all the nice lawns around here, there’s more nitrogen running into the Sound than the water can handle.”

  Rick was on a roll: “Algae blooms, dead lobsters, tainted shellfish. Guess that’s progress, too. And some geniuses from Canada want to put up a natural gas platform right in the middle of the Sound off Boulder Point. Could you imagine the sight if that damn thing ever got sabotaged and was blown up! Lights out, Long Island!”

  Katie got in a few words as Rick took a breath. “Man, you are on a tear this morning. I figured you’d be a lot milder after last night. What gives?”

  “Did you ever think, Katie, that maybe those fish are trying to get even for all humanity has done to them and their environment? Look at what those assholes did to the Gulf of Mexico. They could do it here too. Fucked up an entire way of life. Generations of traditions. The roots of this country’s heritage destroyed. And nobody seemed to give a shit while it all was happening. Politicians too worried about their re-election campaigns, an oil company executive watching horse races as one of the most fertile ecosystems in the United States was being wiped out. Whatever is going on here with these fish is another example of things gone haywire in the last decades. I’m beginning to think the Mayans were right. This has been the decade of turmoil and the end, whenever it comes, will not be pleasant.”

  “Come on, Rick, let’s face some facts here, Mayan doomsday predictions aside. And I agree with you about the Gulf accident. That was like the Keystone Cops. But for the most part, the Sound is very healthy. Yeah, there are pockets of hypoxia in the western regions but here in the central Sound and points east, it is a pretty health estuary, with plenty of oxygen. Just take a look at what a phenomenal fishing season this is. Do you think an unhealthy ecosystem would produce the enormous varieties of life we have been seeing the past few years? Tons of sand eels, Atlantic silversides, football field–sized schools of bunker, squid, you name it. And how about all those species of game fish that come into these waters? Striped bass, fluke, bluefish . . . and all the pelagic species like Atlantic bonito and false albacore and Spanish mackerel. The Sound is a very fertile place, Rick. Fertile enough for you to still make a living from fishing.”

  “Katie, my Katie. Sounds to me like you are buying into all the chamber of commerce bullshit and hype.”

  “Oh, come on, Rick, you know I’m right.”

  “Hey, you know I was telling you about years back when I hunted woodcock over at the peach farm. Well one day, I come out of the woods and there is a woman picking peaches. She starts to pet Santee, my black l
ab, and asks me what I’m hunting for. I tell her woodcock. So she asks me, what’s a woodcock? I tell her that is what Pinocchio has.”

  “Rick, you are really incorrigible and a real idiot, and you always change the subject when I’m right about something. That is pretty funny about the woodcock.”

  “Holy shit, look at all the cars in the parking lot. Must have been quite a happening down there on the beach.”

  There were cop cars and vehicles from all emergency services units parked in the lot and a few four-wheel drives were on the beach. And the local news crews were also on scene. As Katie and Rick reached the sand beach, they heard a familiar voice.

  “Dr. DiNardo, glad to see you here.”

  “Well hello, Detective Spinello. The feeling is mutual.”

  “Seems like our unknown perps have stuck again. You should go examine those carcasses, Dr. DiNardo. They show very interesting bite marks. Might shed some light on your investigation.”

  “Do you guys have any new leads?”

  Spinello shook his head. “Who’s your friend?”

  Rick stuck out his hand and grasped detective Spinello’s hand extra firmly, proclaiming, “Captain Rick McCord, fishing guide.”

  “You are up and about early. Are you involved anyway in this case?”