Mount Misery

by Angelo Peluso

  Whitman contemplated that response and asked a follow-up. “Do the bite marks that you’ve seen suggest any known species of marine animal?”

  “Simply put, Ms. Whitman, not that we know.”

  “Okay then, a simply yes or no from you. Do you believe that what caused those bite marks actually killed the people involved in the incidents?”

  “I’m a scientist, Ms. Whitman, not one prone to wild guessing. While I do not yet know what did in fact cause those wounds, and the deaths in question, there is as much a chance that those bites were the cause of death as not being the cause of death.”

  Whitman ratcheted up the rhetoric. “This is no time for equivocation, Ms. DiNardo.” The subtle change in how Whitman formally addressed Katie did not go unnoticed. The reporter was feeling a sense of superiority at having the scientist on the ropes. “People’s lives may be at stake here in the coming days, especially with the big end of summer weekend upon us and water sports among the plans of many residents. As one concerned resident and a concerned parent, should I allow my children to go in the waters of the Sound this weekend or any waters around Long Island for that matter?”

  Katie felt boxed and she was hoping for some help. She look at Nick and then at Ted Gunther. Katie was prepared to say, No, you should not allow your children in the water under any circumstances and the beaches should be closed immediately, when William Charles III, her boss’s boss, finally spoke.

  “Ms. Whitman, we are all concerned parents. Dr. DiNardo has responded as truthfully as possible given the facts at our disposal. While we do not have definitive answers at the moment, we hopefully will in a few days. My advice to you and everyone on Long Island is the same advice I will give to my own family. We have been confronted with some strange occurrences in the Long Island Sound that have had possible links to a number of unexplained deaths and I would encourage you all to exercise extreme caution when recreating in the waters of the Long Island Sound and be on alert for any unusual marine animal activity. Should additional information come to our attention that identifies a more severe threat or that warrants beach closures, rest assured we will act with all appropriate urgency. If there are no further questions, we will end this press conference.”

  Ms. Whitman again spoke, “I thank you for that sincere reply but lives are at stake here, perhaps many lives. After we learn what’s doing this, how will we capture or kill it before it kills more of us?”

  Those in the room became noticeably more restless as that question sunk in. Katie knew there was no answer. If her instincts were right, they would confirm the killer’s identity within a day or two but determining how many of the things were out there was the great unknown. If it proved to be the deviant fish she feared, eliminating the threat was of a magnitude bordering on the impossible. She was relieved when William Charles III fielded this question. “Ms. Whitman, until we know what enemy we are confronting, we will not know how to defeat it. Beyond that we can say no more. I thank you all for coming.”

  Ted Gunther realized this press conference would now lead to mass media exposure of the situation. That would lead to massive local and state-wide political pressure and worldwide coverage of the incidents. This was turning ugly fast and he was running out of options. All now hinged on Katie’s DNA evidence. All he said to Katie before leaving the room was that she needed to push her friend even harder now to evaluate the tissue samples from the tooth and that he would call her. Ted and his boss exited the podium through a back door, talking strategy as they walked.

  Katie and Nick walked to the exit at the back of the room where Rick was still standing. Just before reaching Rick, a man in his late thirties or early forties walked up and handed Katie a business card and said, “Call me soon, we need to talk.” The name on the business card read Ned Mack Jr., PhD, Senior Scientist, Evolutionary Biology, Riverstone National Laboratory.

  CHAPTER 29

  Katie, Rick, and Nick stopped for a drink at Bailey’s Pub in downtown Port Rosey. It was a small bar the biker crowd liked to frequent on weekends but it was now without any other patrons. It was a good place to decompress from the stress of the news conference.

  “Three Blue Point Summer Ales,” Rick said to the waitress as they were seated. He turned to Katie and said, “We got us a big problem here. The lid is about to blow off this thing major league. We may not have any time to play games with these fish on the weekend. That may be too late.”

  “Rick, I know that all too well. What scares the hell out of me is that we’re not going to be able to stop this. I’m pretty certain this is an entire school of fish and there is no way we can catch them all, regardless of what they are. So whatever Karen tells me about the genetics of these monsters, great. What do we do next, throw depth charges at them?”

  “Let’s take this one step at a time,” Nick said. “We really need to understand the adversary first. Perhaps when we know what it is and how it evolved, that might give us a clue to how we can destroy it.”

  “Nick, you didn’t see those things on the beach the other night. Rick came within inches of being killed by creatures unlike anything I have ever seen or studied. Their eyes were penetrating like something from another world. When that fish came out from the water, all I could think was sea monster. I got the distinct feeling they could reason and plot and carry out an attack plan.”

  “Pure instincts, Katie, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Here you go folks, three Blue Points. Can I get you anything else?”

  “Not just yet. Thanks,” Rick said.

  Katie continued. “Perhaps, Nick, but in two days, our worst fears could be realized. Hundreds of boats will be on the water for the bluefish tournament, recreational boaters, kayakers, and swimmers will invade every port and beach along the Long Island shoreline of the Sound, not to mention an equally sized armada and mass of humanity across the Sound in Connecticut. And we have mutant fish of unknown origins killing people. Tell me that’s not a formula for a master disaster?”

  Rick wanted to be gentle but he couldn’t hold back. “It’s going to be a lot worse than that, Katie. After today’s press conference, this story is sure to become sensationalized. Believe me when I tell you, there may be ten times the number of folks on the water this weekend than usual, drawn to the danger and the notoriety that will come from catching one of these things. That’s going to be a worse frenzy than anything the fish might offer. And if some weekend warriors latch on to these beasts, it will be a mess.”

  “I know, I know, Rick. And here’s where it gets even more complicated, if that’s possible. If these things are in fact some genetic mutant, we don’t know how they will react to all the activity on the Sound this weekend. Will they become reclusive and retreat to the depths of the Sound or will they respond to all the activity as stimuli and become even more aggressive? God, this is all making my head spin.”

  Katie’s phone rang. “Oh, hello, Ted. What’s up? I’m in Port Rosey. No, I haven’t heard from Karen yet. My guess is that I won’t until late tomorrow at the earliest. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

  Katie listened intently do her boss and then spoke. “Who decided that? The Governor and Homeland Security. Wow! That escalated fast. Not sure how much that will help as a deterrent but it will surely keep the yahoos in check out on the water this weekend. Okay, I’ll let Nick know and I’ll be in touch.”

  “What was that all about?” Nick asked.

  “Ted said that he and his boss had a conference call after the meeting with all agencies involved in the investigation and that included the Governor’s Office and the Office of Homeland Security. It seems the way the press conference ended, they had the same reaction as Rick and they feel there will be a lot of news coverage and a lot more folks on the water this weekend . . . curiosity seekers. So the authorities have decided to divert additional marine police and extra Coast Guard vessels to this part of the Island for the weekend. They are also going to have police on quads and
four-by-fours patrolling all the north shore beaches. That should be quite a scene but a good decision, nonetheless.”

  “That will be great for PR and for controlling the DUIs but not worth a darn for deterring any further attacks,” Nick said.

  “Nick, I have this nauseating feeling that no matter what we do, we won’t be able prevent these fish from striking again. And given their numbers, how do we ever stop them from breeding? God, knowing what they are is just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “That may very well be true, Katie, but until we know what the devil we are dealing with, we won’t have a clue to managing the problem. And for all we know, these things may be working their way out of the Sound.”

  “Oh that’s great, Nick. Our problem then becomes someone else’s nightmare. We can’t let that happen.”

  Rick interjected. “How about we get a bite to eat and then we can take a run out into the Sound? I’ve got a full tank of gas and the outgoing tide starts to flow just before dusk. We might just bump into something. If for nothing else, the salt air might do us all a bit of good to clear our heads.”

  “Sounds good,” Katie replied. “By the way, have you heard from Jack lately? I wonder if he’s encountered anything else out there?”

  “I’m sure if he had, he would have called but I’ll ring him up in a bit and check in.”

  “Unfortunately folks, I will have to pass on dinner and the sunset cruise. I’ll leave that to you two lovebirds. I have a prior commitment.”

  “What’s his name?” Rick said, an impish glint in eyes.

  “Rick, you stop that!” Katie shot back.

  Nick just smiled and in retort said simply, “You should only know.” He then winked at Rick and said he would talk to them later.

  “Rick, I really wish you wouldn’t kid around like that with Nick. He is a sensitive guy.”

  “Who was kidding?”

  “Sometimes you are just beyond being an idiot. Let’s get something light to eat and go on the Sound. And please, try to track down Jack. I want to ask him if he’s encountered any other strange activities. I’m going to the ladies room. Order me a chicken salad sandwich. And another beer.”

  Rick dialed Jack’s cell phone number. The call immediately went to voicemail: Hello, you’ve reached Jack. If you are hearing this message, I’m mostly likely fishing and I don’t want to be bothered. Leave a message at the beep and I’ll return the call whenever. Thank you.

  That’s my Jack, Rick thought. Ever the diplomat. Rick then dialed Jack’s home phone number. Jack’s wife answered.

  “Hi Carole, it’s Rick. How’s your summer going? All set for the big weekend? Yep, barbeques and fishing, that’s on the agenda for me too. Thanks, I’ll try to stop by. Hey, I’ve been trying to track down Jack. His cell is on voice mail so I figured I would try the house.”

  Carole explained to Rick that Jack had gone out earlier that morning and said he might stay on the water overnight. She also said she was surprised that she had not heard from him yet. It was unlike Jack not to check in while out fishing.

  “I’m sure he is okay, Carole. I’ve known Jack to throw out the anchor and enjoy a good sleep, especially after a hard day’s fishing. I’m heading out on the water with Katie after we get a bite to eat. I know most of his spots and will try to track him down.”

  “Okay Rick, thank you. By the way, it’s nice to see you back with Katie. That girl is good for you. And if you see Jack out there please tell him to call home.”

  “Will do, Carole. Talk soon.”

  Katie had returned from the ladies room. “Who was that?”

  “Jack’s wife. He’s still on the water. His cell phone is off. My bet is that he’s sleeping somewhere out in the middle of the Sound.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Jack Connors opened his eyes as his head poked through the surface of the water. To his astonishment, he seemed to still be alive and in one piece. How could that be? He remembered seeing the grotesque creatures encircle him, rigid bodies and jaws snapping, closing in for the kill. How could he forget the horrendous clicking and snapping sounds that brought unbearable pain to his inner ears. He remembered seeing the white light and the mermaid, an unexpected angel of mercy. I must have been dead. Then Jack realized he was still indeed among the living and had somehow been miraculously transported back to his boat. He touched the fiberglass. It was cool and very real. Unless they had room for Sea Craft boats in heaven, this one was still anchored in the Long Island Sound.

  At the moment, Jack could not comprehend any of his circumstance but he needed to get out of the water. He was exhausted and while he had apparently survived a surreal encounter, the last thing he wanted to do was drown. Jack reached for the portside gunwale and tried pulling himself up and over but he was too weak from his ordeal. He shimmied his body along the side of the hull until he reached the motor. His hand grasped an open slot on the transom and he held tightly for a moment while catching his breath. Jack felt something bump his leg. Jolts of adrenaline shot through his body, a renewed strength took hold. With one Herculean surge of might, Jack pushed himself upward, catapulting his body from the water, over the motor, and onto the deck where he collapsed on his back. God. Don’t tell me those things are back. Jack righted himself and, on all fours, moved to have a look over the transom. What he saw made him laugh.

  There beneath him in the water, swaying in the current, was his chum bucket still attached to the rope he had secured to one of the aft cleats. Jack was so relieved, he vomited in the water.

  While Jack was coming to grips with the reality that he was still alive, Rick eased Maya out from her slip and into the southern end of Port Roosevelt Harbor. The ferry to Connecticut was just pulling out from the dock, filled with walk-on passengers and cars. Rick gave the big boat berth. She could cause quite a stir with her thruster engines while maneuvering to turn bow out and head north out into the Sound. Rick was in no rush. He had two miles of a no-wake zone to navigate before he too made it to the outside. Since the ferry was a vessel of commerce, it did not need to heed the channel speed restriction and it barreled its way along, passengers on the top deck waving to all who would acknowledge them. Rick always felt that since he too was a commercial enterprise, a professional captain, and an active waterman, he should also be exempt from the speed limitation. But the bay constable thought otherwise and Rick paid his fair share of speeding fines into the town coffers. He would joke that one of these days they’d be able to add a new wing onto town hall from all the tickets he’d paid for his eagerness to reach the fishing grounds. But there was no need to race around this evening. Katie was with him and he would savor the time. He really didn’t expect to see much out there and, if he found Jack, that would make for a fine outing.

  As Rick guided the twenty-seven foot sea foam–colored Contender into the channel, Katie remembered the business card. She pulled it from her notepad folder and reread the name, Ned Mack Jr. He had an impressive title: Senior Scientist, PhD, Evolutionary Biology, Riverstone National Laboratory. Katie wondered if he knew Karen. Those biologist types at the Riverstone Lab were a tight-knit group. Katie also thought it odd this fellow would make contact at a time when one of his colleagues was working on a hush-hush project for her. Katie wondered if Dr. Mack had some part in the DNA analysis or if he had some of his own information to share. She decided to wait until Karen called before contacting him. Katie did not want to risk divulging any more information to anyone at this time than was needed; the situation had gotten too tense, and more than anything else she needed the results of the DNA mapping.

  “Hey, Rick, look at all those fish breaking the surface. They look like little tunny?”

  “Nope. Atlantic bonito. They’ve pushed spearing up on that long sandbar and are enjoying a mighty fine evening feast. They come in here sometimes in late summer if conditions are right.”

  “Wow, they are efficient and deliberate in their movements, not at all like the pandemonium that accompanies a bluefish f
renzy.”

  “Yes they are, just like little tuna. Perfect marine predators.”

  “Rick, I can’t imagine any predator more perfect that those bastards that tried to kill you the other night.”

  Rick looked at Katie and just shrugged, and then he mashed forward on the throttle as he cleared the no-wake zone. The two 250 horsepower Yamaha engines jumped to life. Within seconds, the boat was up on plane and heading toward Sandhill Point. The evening was warm and the Sound calm, a light breeze blew from the southwest. Within minutes, Rick’s boat cruised past Old Colonial Light and the promontory upon which it sat. The boulder field in front of the light was just becoming visible as the slowly dropping tide flowed eastward. Small bluefish and bass were feeding on the surface and flat seas prevailed as far as the eye could see. On this evening, the Long Island Sound looked more like a big inland lake than the huge saltwater estuary that it was. Rick pointed across the Sound to the visible power stacks off Bridgeport, Connecticut, almost fourteen miles away. The evening was exceptionally clear with no limitations to visibility. Katie nodded. She was familiar with that portion of the Connecticut shoreline since her youngest sister had attended Fairfield University and she made the ferry trip across the Sound often to visit. It beat having to deal with all the traffic getting off the Island and onto the New England Thruway.