Vengeance from the Deep - Book One: Pliosaur

by Russ Elliott

  Billy poked his head in the doorway. “Come on already. It’s time for lunch! You’ve been staring into that drawer for two hours. It’s not going anywhere, now come on. Mom won’t let me eat until you’re at the table.” Billy started to run back down the stairs but paused in the doorway. “Remember, you’d better not show that to anyone, or they’ll take it from you.”

  Kevin slowly slid the drawer closed. He felt like he was going to explode—he couldn’t tell anyone, not even his best friend Tommy.

  ~~~

  The midday sun glared into Kate’s office at Cape St. Francis Airport while she anxiously listened to the voice on the other end of telephone. She glanced through a window at her baby: a vintage South African Air Force Atlas Oryx utility helicopter perched on a heliport. The craft was camouflage-green, complete with a toothsome grimace painted on the nose like warplanes of yore. It was a big hit with tourists, but more importantly, it reminded her of her late husband.

  “Nothing reported down in your area, huh?” replied Kate. “Yes, John Paxton. No, he wasn’t in a plane. It was a chopper. No, I wouldn’t say he’s missing, just a couple days late from a trip. I’m starting to worry a bit; he’s usually quite prompt.”

  She switched the receiver to her other ear.

  “Yes, I’m quite sure he would be coming back in your direction. Please, if you do hear anything, let me know. You have my number? Thanks again. Yes, I’ll try not to worry!”

  After hanging up the phone, Kate swiveled back around in her chair to finish off a half-eaten baguette. She knew the sandwich would have to hold her for a while. It was going to be a long flight to the island. She looked past her desk at the computer monitor to take one last look at the weather.

  ~~~

  The hunter glided silently. Like wings propelling a bird in flight, each thrust of its enormous paddle fins pushed the colossal beast through the ocean. Its massive shadow followed below, rippling across the seafloor. After eight hours of prowling the depths, the pliosaur had merged with a warm south-flowing current that led it between Madagascar and Mozambique and then farther along the coast of South Africa. Now, veering off from the swift current, the creature discovered a narrow band of water, rich with scents and activity.

  Tilting its right forefin, adrenaline surged through the pliosaur. One hundred yards in front of the enormous reptilian eyes lay the crowded beach of Oyster Bay. Although the creature could not yet see this, the olfactory receptors inside its nasal capsule were fully alerted. The waters slowly became shallow, and it slowed its pace. The sandy seafloor rose to meet its underbelly.

  A splash.

  A few yards closer and the surface light revealed a floating object. Another splash. A fleshy thigh swooshed through the water beside the raft.

  The creature locked in on the activity. All four paddle fins pumped in unison. Suddenly, something raked across the side of the monster’s nose, and the giant head jerked back, twisting sideways. Through the shark barrier net its lantern eyes continued to watch the girl floating on the surface. For several seconds the creature glided alongside the net as if searching for an in. All the while, one enormous eye remained fixed on the raft.

  The head lunged toward the beach. Again, the net brushed the side of the beast’s nose. Then, recalling its last run-in with the frustrating net of the fishermen, the pliosaur rolled back, swept its powerful paddle fins, and soared in the opposite direction. Just behind the creature, the net bowed back. The great swell kicked up by the beast knocked the girl off the raft.

  ~~~

  Surfacing, Lesley grabbed her raft and wiped her hair from her eyes. While the teenager curiously looked around the surface, the pliosaur headed out to deeper water, unaware that just a few yards farther along the net was a forty-foot gap through which its body could have easily passed.

  Chapter 17

  THE MAN WHO CRIED WOLF

  John took his gaze off the horizon and rubbed his eyes. He looked again. “No, it’s not my imagination. It’s really there!” He nudged Crystal, who nudged him back. The small dot grew bigger. Its blurry outside edges slowly transformed into the shape of a boat. He quickly rose to his knees and tried to balance himself on the raft while frantically waving. The minutes seemed like hours as he watched the boat pass at a distance. Then, at the last moment of hope, the vessel slowly altered its course.

  John tried to whistle but the sound never made it past his dry mouth. That’s okay. It sees me. The craft drew nearer, a small fishing boat.

  John slid the tooth through the waistband of his pants. As the vessel approached, he lifted his knee to the side of the raft and prepared to board. But his dehydrated muscles suddenly cramped, causing him to lose his balance and fall overboard, capsizing the raft.

  He swam toward the boat, pained, the sting of the salt water reminding John of his numerous cuts and abrasions. A small, weathered man wearing a yellow, hooded raincoat placed a ladder over the gunwale. John climbed on board and shook his hand. The old man appeared to be in his late sixties with white hair and a long, white beard. He squinted and said, “What you doing all the way out here in that tiny little raft? Good thing I got to you before the Blue Pointers did!”

  “The what?” asked John, staring back at the man who now stared at him through the thickest lenses he’d ever seen on a pair of glasses. “The sharks, the great whites. A lot of tigers out here too! They’ll gobble you up. I seen some big ’uns out here too! Some bigger than my boat!”

  John glanced across the length of the sixteen-foot vessel and muttered, “I’ve seen dolphins bigger than this boat.” John reached into the upper left side of his pants, “You ain’t seen nothing. Wait until you get a look at this!” He quickly realized the tooth was gone and desperately reached down deeper.

  The little man squinted, watching as John reached around inside his pants. He stepped back, “You ain’t some kind of pervo, are ya?”

  “Oh no no no. I couldn’t have lost it! It’s the only proof I have! They’re gonna think I’m nuts!” replied John, still searching frantically for the tooth.

  The old man turned his attention to the water behind John. “I’ve seen some strange things in these waters, but never one of those.”

  John turned around, and saw the little chimp swimming to the side of the boat. “Crystal!” he cried. “I almost forgot about you!”

  “That your monkey, boy?” asked the old man.

  As John reached over the gunwale and pulled the chimp from the water, he felt something drop beside his boot. After carefully pulling Crystal into the boat and trying to pry her arms off him, he reached down and pulled the prized tooth from the bottom of his left pant leg.

  “Yes!” John gasped. “I still have it. Look,” he shoved it toward the man, “at this!”

  Taking the tooth from John, the old man felt the weight of the enormous white object. He brought it to within five inches of his thick glasses. After carefully looking at the tooth from the root to the tip, he asked, “What is it?”

  “What do you mean ‘what is it?’ It’s a tooth!” replied John, thinking how it was a miracle that the old man ever saw him in the water.

  “Well, if this is a tooth, boy, it came from one dandy of a beast!” His eyes narrowed. “Probably came from one of those sea serpents I seen. Ya sure it’s a tooth?”

  “Pretty sure,” replied John with a grin.

  The old man handed John the tooth. “Sorry, young feller. I forgot to introduce myself.” He paused for a couple seconds then said, “Libby Watson at your service.”

  Sensing a trace of senility, John extended a hand. “John Paxton. Pleasure to meet you, and thanks again for pulling me from the drink.”

  “Don’t mention it, young feller. Guess you’re pretty lucky old Libby decided to go fishing today.” He reached into a cooler and handed John a bottle of water.

  After a few long sips, John felt the tightness in his head subside a bit. He noticed the chimp watching him. “Guess you’re a little parched too.” Joh
n filled a plastic cup he found on the seat and raised it to Crystal’s lips. He looked at Libby. “Thanks again. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have a radio on board, would you?”

  “Never leave shore without it.” Libby opened a compartment and handed John a small transistor radio that looked at least thirty years old.

  “No, I mean a radio I can call in on. I need to call the Coast Guard.” John held his left hand up to his cheek as if talking into it.

  “Yeah, got one of those too. Used it a couple of weeks ago. Reckon it still works. But you ain’t gonna be able to get the Coast Guard. South Africa ain’t got one. They use some special branch of the Navy to handle all that.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, John saw a crate moving suspiciously. “What’s that?” “That’s me Snappy,” said Libby. “Snappy, come out here and say hello to our guest.” A small Chihuahua padded out from behind the crate, barking and baring its teeth. John looked down while the little dog snapped at his ankle, then latched onto his pant leg.

  “Don’t mind him none,” Libby said. “He’s just trying to get acquainted.”

  “Nice name,” said John, kicking around, trying to free his pant leg. “You said you had a radio?”

  “Oh yeah, to call in on . . . right over here.”

  Stepping to the driver’s seat, Libby picked up the microphone while looking at the sky. “Sometimes it don’t work so good in this kind of weather.”

  As Snappy continued to try for a clear shot at his ankle, John took the microphone and pressed the button. Static. Libby looked back up at the sky. “Give it a couple minutes, and we’ll be out from under this storm cloud.”

  John looked to the horizon and still couldn’t see a trace of land. “You always come out this far to go fishing?”

  “No, it’s just that sometimes I come out and drop a line and forget to drop anchor. My memory ain’t quite what it used to be. But I usually don’t lose sight of land . . . unless, that is, I catch a nap. But I always bring extra gas just in case.”

  John laid the tooth on the passenger’s seat.

  Libby glanced at it and said, “So what belongs to that tooth?”

  “A type of prehistoric marine reptile.” John finally wrestled his pant leg away from the Chihuahua.

  “Ain’t never seen one of those around here. But once I saw a hundred-foot sea serpent in these waters. Sucker had to be at least twenty feet around.”

  John looked at him, frowning slightly. He sighed. “I think I’ll give the radio another try.” The chimp sat beside the tooth in the passenger seat, fixated on the growling little dog. While John fiddled with the microphone, the faint outline of the mountainous South African coastline appeared in the distance.

  Finally a voice came on the radio, catching John by surprise. He quickly answered, “This is John Paxton. My chopper went down about twenty miles offshore yesterday, and I was just picked up by a small fishing boat.”

  Libby leaned over and said, “The Sea Hawk.”

  More like the Sea Snail judging from the pace of this thing, thought John. He returned his attention to the microphone. “I’m a little dehydrated and sunburned, but overall I’m okay. But what I’m really calling about is . . .” John paused and glanced at the tooth in the passenger seat. He tried to think of a way to make his story sound believable. “I . . . I need to report a very large and dangerous marine reptile that could be in this area. Have there been any attacks or strange sightings reported anywhere along the southern coast in the last two days?”

  The radio crackled, and the static voice answered, “No, there have been several beached whales but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary.” There was a pause. “When you say ‘marine reptile,’ do you mean like a croc?”

  “Not exactly. Considerably larger.”

  “How much larger?”

  There’s no way I can try to tell him what this thing really is, not without showing him the tooth. Against his better judgment, John decided to go for it and said, “It’s enormous, better than sixty feet!”

  “Did you say sixty or sixteen?”

  “Sixty,” John clarified, emphasizing the word.

  “Sixty feet long? Sir, how, can you expect—–”

  “Listen, I know how it sounds. But I have proof and can show it to you as soon as I get in. For now, please trust me on this. You need to alert all the coastal authorities and have them get some eyes in the air. We’ve got to find this thing.”

  “What . . . well, what’s it look like? What are we looking for?”

  “Don’t worry,” John said. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

  After a long pause, the dispatcher replied in a guarded tone, “Okay. I’ll check around.”

  John wondered if the dispatcher was just pretending to believe him. “Good, but hurry. There’s no time to waste.”

  “Yeah, okay. I said I’ll check around. Out!”

  John racked the mike and leaned back against the passenger’s seat. “That’s all I can do for now. It sounded like he believed me. Maybe.” He replayed the call in his mind, wondering if he sounded remotely credible. “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t try to tell him the thing was a pliosaur.”

  “Pli-o-who?” asked Libby.

  “Pliosaur. A prehistoric marine reptile thought to have died out sixty-five million years ago with the dinosaurs. That’s what belongs to this tooth, Libby.” The old fisherman looked at his passenger and squinted his eyes. “You seem like an honest feller. I believe your big dinosaur story. If you say it’s a dinosaur tooth, I believe it’s a dinosaur tooth.”

  “Thanks, Libby,” John said, relieved that the old man believed him. One down . . .

  “How long until we reach the coast?”

  “About an hour or so.”

  John again kicked his ankle sideways to escape the jaws of Snappy. “Uh, do you think we could put this piranha under that crate for a while?”

  Libby didn’t answer. He just continued to stare straight ahead at the distant coastline while the boat maintained its painfully slow pace. John slid Crystal out of her seat and sat down. Laying the tooth in his lap, he leaned back and chuckled lightly to himself. Maybe I would have made it to the coast faster in the raft.

  ~~~

  After a long sip from his cup of water, naval dispatcher Sal Peterson turned to make another call. Admiral Henderson walked up behind him and said, “That sounded like a rather interesting call.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” Sal turned to face the Admiral. “Sir, what’s the largest marine croc on record?”

  “I believe it’s around nineteen, twenty feet, somewhere in that area,” said the admiral. “Why?”

  “Someone just called in from a fishing boat. Said he saw something in the sixty-foot range, some type of marine creature, reptilian. I’m sure his size must be off a little, but the funny thing was he seemed so sincere . . . and concerned! He wants us to alert the authorities and get an eye in the sky looking for this thing. I was thinking about checking with our East London unit near the Morgan’s Bay area where they’ve had all the beachings. Ask if they’ve seen anything out of the ordinary.”

  Admiral Henderson’s tone sounded doubtful. “You said he was calling from a small fishing boat?”

  “Yes, sir. I believe it was the Sea Bird, or maybe it was the Sea—”

  “Sea Hawk.”

  “Yeah. That’s it! How did you know?”

  The admiral smiled. “That’s Libby’s boat. So now he’s switched to dinosaurs, eh? He reported two sightings of sea serpents last month alone. He’s getting on in years, and I think he’s more than a little senile. The last time we investigated one of his sea serpents, it turned out to be several basking sharks lined up feeding together. I wouldn’t worry about it!”

  The dispatcher replied, “The caller didn’t give me that impression, and this wasn’t the old man. Said his name was John. Was picked up by the old man after being stranded. Do you think I should make the call anyway?”

&
nbsp; “Still, he’s calling from Libby’s boat,” replied the admiral. “We don’t want to wave anything under the nose of the media. With all the shark attacks we’ve had, I don’t want them to see our choppers searching the waters. That’s all those vultures need to start making up headlines again. Don’t worry. If there’s really anything unusual out there, the Sharks Board will be on top of it.”

  “Okay,” replied the dispatcher in an uncertain tone. He shrugged then swiveled back around to the switchboard to take another call.

  Chapter 18

  SHREDDING THE WAVES

  With their surfboards tucked under their arms, two young men walked toward the Keurboom shoreline, eagerly watching the breaking waves. Strap-like leashes trailed behind the surfboards, dancing across the sand.

  The taller of the two paused. Planting the rear of his surfboard in the sand, Dorian pulled his long, blond hair back into a ponytail and wrapped a rubber band around it. A glance across the empty beach, he pulled his surfboard up, and headed toward the surf.

  Nearing the shoreline, Ron, the smaller of the two, looked at Dorian. His short, brown hair tousled in the wind. “So, where did you meet this chick?”

  “About two weeks ago when I was surfing off Jay Bay,” replied Dorian. “You know, right after that cold front came through. The waves were awesome! Some of the sweetest right-hand point breaks ever. Really pumping! Should have been there, bro. I had just come out of yet another one of my solid backdoor barrels when I noticed this chick checking me out from the beach with a pair of binocs. So I continued to hypnotize her with a series of floaters, three-sixties, and a couple more sweeeet, completely covered tube rides. Then I decided to do the noble thing. Go in and see what’s up.”

  Ron listened intently.

  “Soon as I got to the beach, she came up to me. Bro, she is hot! Wait until you see her. She was one of the finalists in the Miss Hawaiian Tropic or one of those national bikini contests. So she walks up to me and says she’s gonna be in a commercial for a suntan lotion company.”