Big Ass Shark

by Briar Lee Mitchell

  “What is that?” she asked, still somewhat suspicious, but becoming intrigued.

  Peter and his crew remained silent and let her study the image more closely. She drew closer to the monitor. Her eyelashes fluttered several times, then, her eyes grew wider as she recognized the shape.

  “Holy crap!” she blurted out, “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Well, we think it might be a fin,” Peter said.

  Janet looked around the room, then, shouted out, “Hey! Where’s our science guy? What’s his name . . . Pruitt! Bob Pruitt. Someone get him in here now!”

  Five people dashed for the door, and then moments later a flushed and out-of-breath Bob Pruitt was shoved through the door. Makeup tissues were tucked into the collar of his shirt and fluttered wildly about his face.

  “What the hell is going on?” he snapped. “I was in makeup.”

  “That’ll wait,” Janet said to him, as she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him towards the monitor. “What do you make of this?”

  She pointed to the fin shape in the water and watched Bob carefully as he studied it.

  “Some kind of fin?” she asked him cautiously.

  “Yeah. Could be,” Bob said, then took a step closer to the monitor as he plucked the tissues out of his collar which protected his shirt from the makeup being applied to his face and neck. “Oh yes…most definitely a fin.”

  “Can you tell what kind it is?” Janet asked, trying not to lead him too much.

  “Looks like a shark. Awfully broad at the base though, unless . . . ”

  “Unless what?” Peter pouted, not wanting anything to rain on his parade.

  “Can I get a better image of this?” Bob asked, his curiosity clearly peaked.

  Janet turned to Hobart and told him, “Absolutely. Shift it to the HD monitor.”

  The image was transferred to the larger monitor, an enormous high-definition screen on the far wall. All of the detail in the image appeared crisper and was much easier to read.

  “Yup. It’s a fin,” Bob said matter-of-factly.

  Peter and his crew smirked. They wouldn’t be heading out to Pomona today.

  “Can you tell what kind it is?” Janet asked him.

  “Or how big the thing is?” Jethro inquired.

  Bob stared intently at the monitor, almost mesmerized by the image.

  “It’s so odd,” he continued. “The fin is too short, unless the shark is really low in the water and we’re only seeing the tip of the dorsal fin. But that doesn’t make any sense. It looks much too big for that.”

  “Okay. Like, how big we talkin’ here?” Janet asked him. “Like, great white shark big?”

  “I need something for reference,” Bob told her. “Some kind of reliable landmark that will give me distance . . . . ”

  “Look, there’s a channel marker!” Jethro interjected, “Those are eighty feet off of Merrill. I know, ’cause my cousin runs a charter service out of Dartmouth, just south of there. I’ve been out past those markers a bunch of times with him. They are eighty feet out there.”

  “Okay, so we got that,” Bob muttered as he moved even closer to the monitor.

  Looking about, he saw some blank paper lying on top of a photocopier on the far side of the room. He grabbed up some blank sheets and headed back to the monitor. Sketching quickly, he drew out a shark’s fin and then cut through part of it with a wavy line, to represent the surface of the water. He finished out the drawing with a rough, cartoon-like body of a shark attached to the fin underneath the waterline.

  After doing some quick math in the margins of the page, he held it up for Janet to see.

  “That is one big-assed shark,” Bob said with awe.

  “How big?” everyone asked in unison.

  “It’s hard for me to be really accurate, but at least twenty feet . . . or more. I’m not an expert on sharks, but whatever kind it is, it is big. I’m just guessing, though, because we can’t see the back of the shark or any other fins . . . but, my best guess, yeah, twenty feet or longer. To be more accurate I would really need to see how far under the water the back is so I’m having to guess on how much of that dorsal fin is not visible. But yeah, that is my estimate.”

  Peter started to move quickly for the door, followed by Jethro and Hobart.

  “Where are you going?” Janet shouted at him.

  Peter stopped and spun around.

  “That Japanese marine research firm, the . . . ahh . . . damn, what is their name?” he asked.

  “Riker Institute?” Janet offered.

  “Yes! The Riker Institute, down in Marina del Rey. They got a shark expert there. The guy that did that story with us last year when those Mako sharks were all over the place. Remember?”

  “Oh right, I remember him . . . ah . . . damn, what’s his name?” Janet stuttered.

  “Delbert!” Peter blurted out. “Dr. John Delbert. Let’s start with him.”

  Peter yanked the door open.

  “Wait!” Bob yelled to him. “You’ll need this.”

  Bob pointed to the monitor where the eerie image of the panicked people—and the fin—filled the screen.

  “No worries,” Peter yelled back to him, already out the door. “We got a copy! We’re pros!”

  He called out to Jethro and Hobart, “We got enough gas to get us down to Marina del Rey?”

  “We gots lots, boss,” Hobart assured him.

  “Yeah. We’re pros,” Jethro added with a sarcastic smile.

  Peter was running down the hall, followed by Jethro and Hobart, who moved along at their own speed. Peter pulled out his cell phone, called Information for help, and then, got connected to the Riker Institute.

  “Hello, yes, let me speak to Dr. Delbert please. Uh-huh, yes, this is Peter Everett, KQRX News.”

  Peter had become so excited at the direction this story was going in that he could barely get his words out. He had run all the way to the door, and realized Jethro and Hobart weren’t running along with him, so he turned back and motioned for them to hurry up.

  He burst through the doors to the outside and ran for their van.

  Back in the newsroom, Bob and Janet, along with other newsroom personnel, stared fearfully at the bizarre events frozen on the monitor.

  “You going to run this on tonight’s broadcast?” Bob asked her.

  “Just a proviso with this image,” Janet said. “That a large shark might be offshore. I mean, I trust you, Bob, but before I air a story about a big-assed shark, we need a bit more than this.”

  She held up his sketch, showing the big fin with the cartoon-like shark drawing attached to it.

  Chapter 6

  Sitting out in his Land Rover, Barry balanced his first aid kit open on his knees and finished placing strips of tape on the gauze that he had spread over Misty’s hand.

  “That oughta’ do it,” Barry said to her. “Should still get a tetanus shot though.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” she said. “I’ll do that. You’re quite the boy scout.”

  Barry put the kit away, started up his vehicle then eased out of the parking lot of her apartment building into the heavy Los Angeles traffic. She pressed down on the fresh tape he had put on her hand and looked around at the road signs they were passing.

  “So, where are you taking me again?” she asked.

  “Friend of mine. Dr. Lawrence McGill. Teaches marine biology at the university up in Santa Barbara during the school year, but during the summer months he’s down here in LA doing research for Aquatic Adventure.”

  “Aquatic Adventure? The theme park?”

  “Yeah, well, he knows a lot about sharks,” Barry said defensively, aware that Aquatic Adventure was known more for being a tourist destination and not so much for extensive scientific research. “We always call on him if we have any attacks or unusual shark activity.”

  Misty tapped the small cooler at her feet that currently housed the big tooth.

  “I guess unusual would be the operative word h
ere.”

  “At least,” he agreed.

  Barry eyed the cooler and then wondered how McGill was going to react when he saw what they were bringing him.

  “Oh wait!” he said, “your camera. We’ll need that too.”

  “No worries. I have it in my bag.”

  The sun was drifting towards the horizon, and the day that had started out so terrifying for Misty began to wind its way towards night. She leaned back in the front seat, resting her foot on the cooler containing the tooth and tried to regain her composure and think through what was happening. Misty stared at the bandage that Barry had put on her hand, and wondered if all that had transpired so far was real. She knew it was. The dull throbbing from the wounds on her hand was ample evidence, but the events raced by too fast to make sense when she tried to replay them in her mind.

  As they headed down the highway, Misty caught glimpses of the ocean as they drove along, and wondered where the big fish was at that moment. It was out there, somewhere.

  Why her, Misty wondered? What had she done to warrant a visit from such a creature and who was next to see it?

  Turning her gaze away from the window Misty stole a glance at Barry whose attention was focused on the road ahead. He was aware she had turned to look at him and asked, “Are you OK? Is your hand bothering you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, “Just wondering, you know, what is going to happen next.”

  He nodded his head, clearly wondering the same thing, although, not as anxious about it as she was.

  “For right now,” Barry told her, “Don’t think about it anymore. Don’t worry about it. Let’s wait and see what my friend McGill might have to say about what you saw this morning.”

  “Right. Good idea I guess. What if someone else sees it.”

  Barry furrowed his brow a bit. In all of the rushing about, he hadn’t given enough thought to the possibility of the huge beastie making an appearance to anyone else and what those consequences might be. If this thing she saw was real, and not some sort of elaborate hoax on her part, they would need McGill fully on board to make their next move. He sped up the Land Rover a bit. If there was a big shark out there, McGill was his go to guy. He would know what to do.

  About two miles offshore, a dead whale floated like a huge rubber raft on the heavier swells of the deeper water. Land was just visible to the east, with plenty of beaches still packed with people, and surfers catching the last waves of the day. To the west, the sun, inching closer to the horizon, tinged the foamy water red.

  The carcass of the whale shuddered briefly as a large great white shark rose up through the greasy, bloody water and wrestled a huge mouthful of flesh from the carrion. A few more sharks ripped into the body, tearing chunks of flesh free, before quickly scattering.

  Even the birds that had been wheeling and screaming in thick flocks over the whale rose up and disappeared. The dead leviathan floated silently on the waves.

  The carcass trembled significantly as it was pushed from beneath the water. The thick, round body popped up and out of the ocean for a brief moment, then dropped back down, sending waves in all directions. It rolled over slowly, revealing a clearly defined bite mark at least four times larger than the one left by the monster great white. A few moments slid by, then the other sharks darted back in, ripping into the newly exposed flesh, obscuring the fearsome bite pattern just before a Coast Guard helicopter appeared overhead.

  The helicopter circled the whale carcass in a large, lazy loop, then, hovered nearby so the two Coast Guard officers onboard could watch what sharks might be in the area without disturbing them.

  Back on land, and further to the south, Barry and Misty arrived at the parking lot for Aquatic Adventure. Just as he was able to find a spot to park the vehicle, his radio crackled to life.

  “Barry? You there?” the voice on the radio asked. It was Terrance again.

  He quickly made sure the vehicle was in park, and then keyed his microphone open.

  “Yup. Go for Barry.”

  “Coast Guard did a flyby, like you asked.”

  “Anything?”

  “Just like you thought. There’s a dead whale about two miles off Merrill Point and it’s attracted some pretty big sharks. Looks like a full grown finback.”

  Barry knew a whale that large could easily draw dozens of sharks in the area for days. If it was an adult, as Terrance had just communicated to him, the whale could easily be over 80 feet long, providing an enormous smorgasbord for all kinds of sea life, especially sharks.

  Misty leaned down and retrieved her cooler from the floorboards and held it on her lap.

  “How big?” Barry asked.

  “The whale?”

  “No, the sharks.”

  “Ahhhh, lemme patch you through to them, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  A few clicking sounds emanated from the radio, and then the voice of the Coast Guard helicopter pilot, Marty Finch, could be heard. The sounds of his rotors beating muffled some of the transmission.

  “Finch here. Who I got on that end?”

  “Hey Marty, it’s Barry Fitzsimmons.”

  “Hey, Barry! Say, I got an old girlfriend of yours floating around out here. She says hi, and sends you a big wet kiss.”

  Misty rolled her eyes but held her tongue.

  “Sweet! But, do you got sharks?”

  “Indeed I do!”

  “Big ones?”

  “One great white. At least eighteen feet long. That big enough for ya?”

  Heading down the freeway towards the Riker Institute, Peter and his crew had been monitoring all of the police and Coast Guard channels. They turned up the volume when they heard a conversation about sharks, and were able to catch the tail end of the conversation between Marty Finch and Barry Fitzsimmons.

  “Sounds like he’s right over one big-assed shark,” Hobart commented.

  “We got a sky cam heading out there?” Peter asked.

  Jethro quickly punched a number into his cell phone.

  “We will in a few.”

  “Good. If there is a whale out there, with some big-assed sharks fluttering around it, we should have some footage of that.”

  Hobart frowned at the word—fluttering—and wondered again to himself where Peter came up with his bizarre vocabulary. He glanced up to the rearview mirror and watched Peter and Jethro hunched over the radio, taking notes and recording what was coming through.

  “Anything bigger than eighteen feet?” Barry asked Finch.

  Hobart saw Peter and Jethro exchange an excited glance, then finally reverted his eyes back to the road when he realized he was drifting too close to the guard rails.

  “Just the whale. Why?” Finch asked.

  Jethro’s call finally went through and he whispered quickly but quietly into the phone.

  “Yeah, gimme the sky cam, guys. Hurry!” Jethro said.

  He drummed his fingers anxiously on top of one of his camera cases, bit his lip, then, started talking again when he was connected to the helicopter pilot for KQRX.

  “Yup! Sky 1? Good. We need a bird two miles off-a Merrill Point. Dead whale and lots o’ sharks. We need eyes out there recording the sharks, especially big ones. Okay. Okay, good deal. Perfect. Five minutes? Perfect. You rock man. Owe ya big time!”

  Jethro clicked his phone off then whispered to Peter, “On their way boss.”

  “Good!” Peter whispered back, focusing his attention on the radio again.

  “Do me a favor?” Barry asked. “Scour the area and look for anything out of the ordinary, like, ah, a shark kind of as big as that whale.”

  “Damn!” Hobart said when he heard that.

  “Shhh!” Peter admonished him angrily.

  “And white!” Misty said, her voice sounding faint as she hollered towards the microphone in Barry’s hand from the passenger seat.

  “White?” Jethro and Hobart said at the same time.

  Peter slapped the air furiously, trying to get them to be quiet.<
br />
  “Shut up!” he hissed at them.

  “What was that?” Finch asked, referring to Misty’s comment. “Sounded like your voice changed for a moment there. Thought you outgrew that already.”

  “Yeah. Funny! But yes, there might be a big fish out there, kind of white in color and, ummm . . . gosh darned big. Can you make a few more passes in the area? See if you find anything like that?”

  He shot Misty a confused looked and mouthed the word. White?

  She nodded her head vigorously.

  “What the . . . what? You want me looking for Moby Dick out here?” Marty asked him, halfway laughing, halfway intrigued.

  Jethro’s cell phone rang. He answered it.

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him,” Jethro said, then covered the phone and leaned over to Peter. “Sky 1 is just about there.”

  “Tell ’em to start rolling now!” Peter told him.

  “Roll it now,” he said into the phone,” Look around, for big sharks. White sharks. Anything unusual, including a dead whale that’s supposed to be out there. Yeah. Thanks.”

  Jethro hung up.

  “Okay, my man,” Finch said. “You got it. Oh crap. News ’ copters coming already. Probably monitoring us. Must be a slow news day, and—WHOA, look at that!”

  “WHAT!?” everyone listening shouted at the same time.

  Misty, startled by Barry shouting, jumped in her seat and banged her head against the window.

  “Some idiot down there in a kayak,” Marty said incredulously. “Guy’s coming out to take a look, I guess. Aha, I think he just spotted the great white.”

  They could hear Marty laughing into the microphone on his end.

  “He’s turning around,” Marty added.

  The guy in the kayak paused about thirty feet from the whale, listening to Aerosmith on an expensive, waterproof Walkman. A few sharks swam past him, buffeting his kayak as they headed for the whale. He saw the head of the great white break the surface of the blood-flecked water, and, after flashing its toothy maw, ripped into the whale again. The blubbery carcass bobbed up and down as more blood and grease spilled out into the already filthy water.

  Kayak Guy quickly turned his craft around and starting paddling frantically for shore.