Vengeance from the Deep - Book One: Pliosaur

by Russ Elliott

  Kota turned his attention to a large man by his side and said, “Kolegwa, make sure the murderer does not leave the island alive!”

  Kolegwa replied in their native tongue, “I bring his head in honor of Chief, this I take oath!” He took his knife and cut an “X” on the left side of his chest, just deep enough to draw blood.

  Kota looked at Kolegwa’s chest. “I’m not asking you to do that.”

  Kolegwa sheathed his knife and said, “I take oath in Chief honor. I not fail,” knowing full well that if he returned without killing the white man, he must force his own knife through the “X” on his chest to make up for the life of his enemy with his own.

  Kota turned and pointed to the sky. “Now go get the white man while the rain still falls!” Through a window, Kota watched as the small native grabbed a torch in each hand and raced through the double doors of the village, the others falling in behind. The points of flickering light slowly disappeared into the pitch-black jungle.

  ~~~

  John woke as cold water hit his face. Looking up, he saw that he was lying beneath one of the numerous spear holes in the windshield. Groggily he sat up and absorbed his surroundings. Beneath several inches of water in the floorboard lighting reflected off dozens of spent shells. To his right, streams of rainwater flowed down, spattering against the machine gun in the passenger’s seat. In front of the machine gun he saw the enormous white tooth. “Yeah . . . guess this nightmare is for real.”

  John leaned back as far away from the broken windshield as possible. It did little good. There wasn’t a dry spot in the cockpit. No matter how he positioned himself, an occasional gust of wind would push the rain sideways through the spear holes and splatter his face.

  He looked back toward the jungle and then straight ahead to the ocean. But they both remained hidden behind the pouring rain. He looked down and wiped the water from the face of his wristwatch. Four fifteen a.m. It had been over twenty-four hours since they’d arrived on the island. He recalled how Brad had glanced at the drawing in his lap and jokingly said that by now they both might be famous. John leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I don’t think this is quite what Brad had in mind.”

  Carl Jennings stood proudly at the rail of his forty-two-foot yacht, staring across the water. Several miles away, the sandy coast of Mazeppa Bay brightened with the rising sun. The sky bathed in a beautiful reddish-orange hue. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. The early morning air was exceptionally crisp from the remnants of a storm that had passed through during the night.

  To Jennings, a marine biologist based in East London, the last few days of snorkeling along Mazeppa Bay had hardly seemed like a vacation. It just felt like another day in the field. But to his new bride, Angela, who had never experienced diving, the ocean was a magical new world she couldn’t get enough of. Still Carl had to admit that doing so from the comfort of their new Catalina 42, an anniversary present from Angela’s well-to-do father, did put a fresh spin on things. I guess there could be worse vacations, he thought with a smile.

  Carl continued to stare into the distance. Although Angela now considered herself an expert and was only snorkeling near the boat, he still liked to keep her in sight. Twenty yards out, a geyser of water shot up from her snorkel. He spotted her long, blond hair and watched her swim closer to an enormous shadow. A tall fin rose behind her. She turned, catching onto the fin. Bubbles streamed from her snorkel as the massive creature pulled her beneath the waves.

  Carl’s hands tightened on the rail. It was unnerving watching the figure of his wife fade into the depths. But what could he do? It had always been Angela’s dream to dive with a whale shark.

  Carl’s eyes followed her shapely form while she playfully swam with the immense, spotted shark. Holding the fin with one hand, she looked up and waved. Carl waved back without a worry. In spite of the creature’s size, he knew that it was completely harmless. Still it never failed to amaze him how a shark so large and intimidating could exist solely on a diet of microscopic plankton. His attention was suddenly drawn to the waters past the bow. He excitedly waved to his wife while holding up two fingers.

  Another massive figure slowly moved up behind her.

  Angela glanced over her shoulder toward the second whale shark. She broke the surface and pulled out her snorkel. Eyes wide, she pointed to the new arrival. “I’ve never swam with one whale shark, let alone two! Carl, this is great. You should come in! He wants some attention too!”

  “No thanks, hon, I’m still a little tired. I was up most of the night watching the weather reports. I’ll just watch from here!”

  “Okay . . . but you don’t get a chance like this every day!” She returned the snorkel to her mouth and dropped beneath the water.

  Minutes passed as Carl watched the shimmering figure of his wife swim playfully around the gentle giant. The tip of its nose was just beneath the ship’s bow. Angela slowly swam forward and ran her hand along the creature’s tall dorsal fin.

  Carl looked off port side and into the distance. He raised his hand above his forehead and squinted. In front of the distant Maputo coastline, he saw a third large shadow heading in their direction. “Looks like someone else wants some attention,” he muttered.

  As the shadow moved closer, Carl realized it was significantly larger than the others. At first, he thought it was a shadow cast from a cloud because of its size. Then, the way it methodically turned toward the boat suggested otherwise.

  The huge form glided closer then faded into the sea.

  Carl leaned against the rail, searching. Had it left, or was it somewhere on the bottom?

  “Angela!” Carl called out to his wife.

  At the sound of his voice she broke the surface, on her back, holding onto the fin of the whale shark. She looked back at him then squinted in the direction he was pointing. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  At that same moment, the whale shark she was holding onto registered the newcomer, breaking away in an effort to escape. It bumped the yacht, which yawed violently, knocking Carl from his feet. When he pulled himself back up on the rail, he found Angela looking down, all around her.

  She swung her gaze in panic. “The seafloor . . . it’s all moving!”

  The blood rushed from Carl’s face. All he could make out was a gray blur as the pliosaur rose at an angle­­ . . . and barreled its open mouth into the whale shark, catching Angela at the waistline.

  In an explosion of whitewater, the colossal jaws lunged from the sea, lifting Angela and the whale shark twenty feet above the surface and then slammed them back beneath the waves.

  A curtain of water washed Carl back from the rail. On all fours, staring between the rails, he screamed for his wife. “Angela! Noooooooooo!”

  A plume of froth rushed to the surface. Beneath the haze, he saw his wife’s lower half buried in the depths of the monster’s giant maw. Her arms reached out to him, mouth open in a silent scream, bubbles escaping in a foamy, red cascade.

  Pulling himself up on the rail, Carl then got a clear view of the pliosaur in all of its terrifying glory. He realized the creature’s dizzying size as it deepened its grip on the whale. Amidst the froth, he saw the jagged frill atop its armor-plated back, the dinosaur-shaped head twisting, a huge front paddle fin pumping.

  The second whale shark swam away, escaping the thrashing waters.

  Carl couldn’t move. It was as if his body had turned to lead. He stared down at the gray, zebra-striped back of the behemoth—wider than his yacht! His mind scrambled to focus, to understand the horror that was happening before him. It wouldn’t register. He saw the creature’s head even with the bow, yet the tip of its sweeping tail extended forty feet past the stern. Carl’s confusion gave way to sheer terror.

  The monster rolled. The surface filled with gray, striped flesh as it tried to bite off a large section of the whale. A spiraling paddle fin sent a wave over the rail, pounding Carl. But he managed to hang on.

  Carl shook hi
s eyes clear of bloody seawater just in time to wish he hadn’t. The horrible, sixteen-foot-long head rose above the waves. His wife’s torso hung lifelessly from the side of its jaw. The head arced to swallow a huge chunk of the whale shark. Carl could only watch as his wife’s torso fell hideously from the jaws—a disregarded scrap, tumbling, blond hair waving, until it flopped into the sea.

  Carl gripped the rail, screaming his wife’s name. And in his horror, he realized his mistake. A slit in the gray flesh widened, revealing a red, glowing eye. The colossal head turned toward the boat. Bloody seawater and shards of whale-shark meat flowed from its jaws.

  The huge snout paused above the rail, and Carl stared from point-blank range at the most hideous display of teeth he’d ever seen. Gray, pebbled lips did little to contain the nineteen-inch sabers curling out toward him.

  Carl stood frozen. A guttural growl made the rail, indeed the entire boat, tremble. Even his shirt shook against his skin. The jaws cracked open, revealing a huge, writhing serpentine tongue. Like a two-headed snake, the forked appendage rose, slithering between machete-sized teeth.

  A hot stench of death swept over him.

  The jaws opened wider, blotting out the sun.

  The head cocked back, releasing a deafening, primal roar. Wind from its breath caught the sail, making the yacht yaw. Carl ducked as the boom swung around and hit the creature’s lower jaw.

  The colossal head thrashed.

  Snap! The towering mast, sail, lines, and all flew clear from the deck and plunged into the sea.

  ~~~

  One mile away, an elderly black man and boy on a small boat stopped hoisting in a net. Eyes bugging, they looked out to sea in the direction of the horrific sound.

  ~~~

  Carl struggled to find his feet. He scrambled across the deck, trying to get out from beneath the creature’s shadow. The jaws swept down behind him. A glance back showed planks spraying everywhere as the huge teeth of the lower jaw raked across the deck, collecting lounge chairs and anything in the way.

  They grew closer.

  He could feel its breath on his back.

  Ahead, he saw the stairwell leading to the yacht’s lower level. The deck dropped from beneath his feet. He flew into the stairwell face first, sliding to the bottom of the stairs on his chest. But he felt no pain; he was completely numb with fear.

  Then . . . a grotesque ripping sound as the top of the stairwell was completely torn away, revealing clouds.

  A deafening roar shook the stairs. Carl rolled to his knees. He steadied himself against the wall and scrambled down the hallway in a half-crawling motion. The vessel rocked so violently, he didn’t dare try to stand.

  His mind was a blur. Marine crocs aren’t a fraction of that size. They don’t have paddle fins. And the markings. . . they’re all wrong. That was a dinosaur! His years of marine research and teaching provided no answer for what he’d just witnessed.

  He pressed farther along the swaying hallway. The narrow passageway tilted crazily—right, then left. The door to the head swung open in front of him. Grabbing the door for balance, he looked through the doorway to his right. Above a towel rack, he saw a small round window filled with gray skin. Releasing the door, he struggled toward the end of the hallway.

  Carl finally reached the cabin containing the radio. His vision was blurring. Come on, keep it together. He steadied himself in the doorway, trying to control his breathing in an attempt to fight off shock. The cabin was barely recognizable. His desk that had been anchored to the floor was now lying beside the closet. The closet door hung from one hinge and waved with the room’s movement. Its contents were strewn everywhere. On the verge of hysteria, he walked over books, papers, and clothing that littered the floor. Just when he reached the radio, the ship stopped moving.

  His trembling hand queued the microphone. “Mayday! Mayday!” His mind swirled. Try to focus. Come on, think. He took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. His eyes locked on a picture he’d stepped on. The distorted face of his wife stared back at him from beneath the broken glass. The sudden thought of Angela in the massive jaws buckled his knees. Was the cabin still moving? He couldn’t tell—everything was spinning. He leaned back against the wall in a crouched position. His left hand braced on his knee.

  Carl continued transmitting, when a dull thud caught him off balance. The boat was moving again. A loud creaking noise. Suddenly, the floor rose, hurling him into the wall. After another tumble and crash, he found himself lying on the light fixture on the ceiling. The entire cabin was upside down. Books, papers and clothing rained down upon him.

  A sharp jolt, and the momentum changed. He fell against the wall, then back down to the floor as the boat seemed to right itself. He could picture the creature turning the vessel every which way to get to the prize inside.

  A crease formed near the ceiling. A line shot down from the crease, and the walls buckled as the enormous snout plowed into the cabin.

  The ship lunged from the impact. The wall in front of Carl crashed in, throwing him across the cabin. Smashing his head against a table, he dropped to the floor like a rag doll.

  He could not move or feel anything, but he could see it all. Nineteen-inch teeth sliced through the cabin only a few feet from his body. Overhead, the jagged skin from the great nose scraped across the ceiling, ripping lights from their fixtures. Sparks danced off cold, gray skin.

  Beside a dangling light fixture, a red reptilian eye opened. A black, diamond-shaped pupil turned and locked on him. Then the upper jaw slammed down against the floor. A wooden table disintegrated as the massive mouth closed and disappeared, taking with it a large section of the floor and hull. Water gushed in through the immense opening. Carl’s left shoulder lifted from the carpet and rose with the flooding waters.

  The cabin quickly filled to the ceiling. Carl held what he knew was his last breath. Bed sheets, papers, and clothing swirled around him. Then, with a gurgling roar, the hyperextended jaws crashed back into the cabin, and everything disappeared.

  Chapter 11

  FIRST FLIGHT OUT

  The early morning sun glittered through the broken windshield and into the cockpit. John lay motionless in the pilot’s seat, his mouth half open, his head leaning to one side. The damp beach remained completely silent with the exception of an occasional tropical birdcall. Nearby at the edge of the jungle large leaves and palm fronds drooped from the weight of the night’s rain.

  “KOOOWWWAAAAA!” A loud scream echoed through the cockpit. Reaching immediately for the passenger seat, John grabbed the machine gun. He pointed the barrel at a hole in the windshield and squeezed the trigger. Nothing. The gun only made a clicking sound. Out of ammo! As the sleep left John’s eyes, he saw the face of a chimpanzee staring at him through a plate-sized hole in the windshield. John sighed with relief. “All that come out of you?” grumbled John with a yawn. He slowly leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes. Even through closed eyes, he had to squint from the bright morning sun. He slowly lifted his hands and rubbed his face. Then he realized something was different. No rain!

  Sitting up, he grimaced as he felt the tightness of the dried cuts on his chest and left arm. He looked down at the blood on his torn shirt and then at the white tooth in the passenger seat, reminding him that the lingering images in his mind were from more than some strange, twisted dream.

  He looked again at the smiling chimp. “Some set of lungs you’ve got there! You’re the first friendly face I’ve seen around here. So, what’s your name? I know,” he grinned, thinking about his ex-wife, “with a voice like that, there’s only one name for you—I’ll call you Crystal!”

  John looked to the side of the chimp’s face at the numerous holes in the windshield and suddenly remembered the urgency of his departure. “Hey, you better get down from there. I’ve gotta go!” He made a shooing gesture with his hand. Then he reached down to the ignition key.

  To John’s relief, the engine started without any problem and sounded oka
y. “Just needed to dry off a little—didn’t you?” Preparing for liftoff, he paused. Maybe I should try to patch the leak from the spear hole while it’s still dry. Don’t want to run into any rain over the open ocean . . . it would be a long swim back to Durban!

  John turned off the engine. “Let’s see if we can find that leak.” After sliding between the seats, he stepped into the cargo area. His boots sloshed across the floor. He examined the numerous streaks of light shining through spear holes on the side of the helicopter. With a glance back at the cockpit, he saw the little chimp swing through the shattered passenger-side window and drop into the seat. “Oh, want to help, do you?” John said with a laugh.

  He slid open the cargo door. Streams of water cascaded down from the doorway and splattered onto the beach until the cargo floor was exposed. He stepped outside the helicopter and felt his boots sink deep into the moist sand. He looked up at the top of the craft. Just below the main rotor, he spotted a spear hole in the crowning. “That’s gotta be the one!”

  John climbed back into the helicopter through the cargo door. He saw the chimp looking over the back of the seat. “You’re just in time. I could use a good navigator.” John looked around the floor, “But what I really need is some duct tape—wouldn’t happen to have any of that on ya, would you?”

  He spotted a large toolbox. “Aha!” Kneeling down, he clicked it open and began rustling through its contents, “Oooh yeah. I can use that too!” John pulled out a Baby Ruth candy bar and laid it by his side.

  After rambling through the entire contents of the toolbox, he leaned back on his knees. “A toolbox with no duct tape! What kinda toolbox is this?” The chimp just stared at him. Wait a minute . . . maybe that’ll work! He pulled out an old 3” x 8” Champion spark plug sticker. Quickly, John opened the candy bar and stepped outside the craft. He put the candy bar in his mouth and thought about the chimp sitting in the cockpit. Then he walked back to the pilot’s side door, reached in front of the chimp and pulled out the ignition key. “Nothing personal!” The chimp gave him a toothy grin.