Shark Beach

by Chris Jameson

  Hurricanes turned his whole life upside down. This wasn’t his first one and he figured it would not be his last, but those assholes who had raced their boat into Blind Pass as the hurricane had been blowing in had made it a much bigger headache than it had to be. If they hadn’t died on impact—or in the resulting gas-tank rupture, or crushed by falling debris, or whatever had been their actual cause of death—he would have drowned them with his bare hands.

  Instead, he stood on the rocks beneath the wreckage of the short-span bridge and watched men scrambling at the water’s edge. A small boat had been anchored there, with divers investigating the remaining supports to see if they could still be used. Up on the Sanibel side, a crane waited to lower new beams into place. A short way to the east, through the pass, cleanup crews dredged the debris from the water.

  For a little bridge, it was a massive effort, and Chief Smalls was impressed. The governor of Florida might be a shit-sucking weasel willing to take a bribe from just about anyone, but he had certainly gotten on top of this repair quickly. Smalls figured that was partly because he wanted to be reelected and partly because Sanibel and Captiva were havens for wealthy foreigners and less-wealthy vacationers who were willing to spend money they didn’t have. The local economy depended on tourism.

  Chief Smalls tapped the package of Camel cigarettes in his front pocket. He knew he shouldn’t smoke, but the knowledge never interfered with the temptation. With a grumble, he turned his back on the workers and started to climb back up the way he’d come, to the Sanibel side of the pass, where a snobby little restaurant looked out over the Gulf with a view so fine they wouldn’t let families with children in to appreciate it. On the one hand, Chief Smalls usually wanted to fling the little rug rats off a balcony when he was in a public place with screaming kids and parents who wouldn’t silence them. On the other hand, if you owned a restaurant, he figured you had to be a pretty confident asshole to alienate such a huge percentage of your possible customer base. But that was their business.

  As he crested the hill, he saw a vehicle rocking along the road toward the pass. For half a second, Sheriff Reyes seemed about to pull some kind of 1980s movie stuntman jump across the pass, but then he cut the wheel hard, skidding a little as he drew to a halt thirty feet from the crane, and the repair workers gathered around it. Some of the men hooted, two applauded, and one—who’d been startled by the Sheriff’s arrival—gave Reyes the finger.

  Sheriff Reyes climbed out, spotted Chief Smalls, and jogged over to him. Reyes was a big man, and Smalls often forgot how big when they hadn’t crossed paths in a while.

  Chief Smalls grimaced. “Fuck’s sake, Artie, you drive like a prick. What are you doing out here?”

  “We may have a problem,” Reyes said. “I didn’t want it over the radio till we discussed it.”

  Chief Smalls threw open his arms to take in the hurricane damage around them. “You think we may have a problem?”

  Sheriff Reyes narrowed his eyes angrily. “You think now’s the time for busting my balls?”

  He glanced around as if to make sure they weren’t going to be overheard, and then walked a few steps closer to the rocks the chief had just scaled. Waves rolled through the pass. The small boat anchored below rocked on the water. One of the divers poked his head up and glanced around, then submerged again.

  “Okay, Sheriff,” Chief Smalls said. “You’ve got my attention.”

  Reyes watched the horizon for a moment, then looked at him. “Short version. Turns out the Institute has been researching how to control shark behavior for years, trying to turn them into military weapons, maybe put cameras on them, turn them into spies or something.”

  Chief Smalls cocked his head. “Okay, well, that’s fucking weird.”

  “One of the things they figured out how to do is make them meaner. Hungrier, too. Or at least make them feel hungry all the time.”

  Smalls frowned and shook his head. He tried to picture some Navy sailor in a dark room navigating the course of a torpedo, but instead of a torpedo, the sailor was controlling the path of a shark as if he were playing a video game. The kinds of things the military invested billions into would always baffle, but never really surprise, him.

  He scoffed, nearly asked the question … and then the answer sprang into his head.

  “You saying what I think you’re saying?” Chief Smalls asked.

  Sheriff Reyes glanced back at the water, and Smalls knew just from the worried crease of his brow.

  “These pissed-off sharks,” Chief Smalls said. “They got out?”

  Reyes nodded. “In the hurricane. They’re out there.”

  Smalls had two reaction settings—curmudgeon and smartass. But there were no wisecracks for him to make and he could not settle into the grumpy persona he had so patiently crafted. A hurricane he could handle. Destructive as the storm had been, he understood its power and its aftermath, knew how to calm the public and orchestrate recovery efforts. This was something else. Military-grade sharks were something that should not exist in his predictable world, and the news shook him. “What the fuck do we do?” he asked.

  Sheriff Reyes must have seen how rattled he was, but to his credit the man went on as if he hadn’t noticed. “Deputy Hayes is on Captiva. She has a few of your people out there, but she’s going to need some more help.”

  Chief Smalls stared at him. “We can get some of the state police out there, but you’re talking about reacting. You wanna just wait till people get attacked?”

  “I want to keep people safe, Chief,” Reyes said. “We need to close the beaches and put out a ‘no swimming’ order. It won’t be easy getting people to comply, but that’s our best option. Keep people out of the water while we go out shark hunting.”

  Smalls nodded slowly. A small laugh escaped his lips. “This is nuts.”

  From down in the deep current of Blind Pass, a voice called out. At first, Chief Smalls barely noticed. Reyes was in the middle of saying something about the researchers at the Institute and the way they planned to help with the search for their missing sharks, but then that voice from below cried out again and the hair on the back of the chief’s neck bristled. He turned away from Reyes and stepped to the edge of the rocks, staring down at the boat moored down there.

  One of the divers had pulled off his mask. Treading water, he held onto the back of the boat, looking up at the team working on the dangerous wreckage where the bridge had torn away. With the wind and the water, the workers couldn’t hear him shouting, but Smalls had heard him.

  “Hey!” he shouted down into the pass. “What’s going on?”

  The diver redirected his focus. “Chief? Did you see Dunwoody get out of the water?”

  “That’s your partner? Dunwoody?”

  “I can’t find him!” the diver called. “I’m worried he maybe got injured on some debris or something. He’s not answering me. Hasn’t surfaced. And there’s no sign—”

  “Shit,” Reyes hissed. “Get him out.”

  Chief Smalls didn’t need to be told. He had started scrambling back down the rocks toward the water before Reyes got the words out.

  “Get in the boat,” he called, wracking his brain to remember the diver’s name. “Acevedo … David! I need you out of the water now, okay?”

  Now just Acevedo, either. Chief Smalls thought about the workers on the east side of the pass, dredging debris. How were they supposed to do the job if they couldn’t be in the water?

  “What about Dunwoody?” Acevedo asked, still hanging on to the back of the boat.

  Smalls scanned the rushing water, thinking about the deep channel, and what might be hiding there. He feared that if they ever saw Dunwoody again, he wouldn’t be in one piece.

  CHAPTER 11

  Emma didn’t mind being out on the beach by herself. Her mom and Mrs. Hautala had gone up to the house to see what kind of dinner they could cobble together with the groceries on hand, and to see what restaurants had reopened if there wasn’t enough. It f
elt nice to be alone—it felt adult. Mature. Though of course she wasn’t entirely alone. A handful of people were scattered on the beach in either direction, just a few dozen. The day had waned into late afternoon, the hour when families tended to vanish off the sand to begin taking turns in the shower and making dinner plans. The hurricane had turned this into anything but an ordinary vacation, but the rhythms seemed to have remained the same. Emma had been ruminating on this phenomenon. She understood that she was young and that, despite how ruffled her feathers became when her mother suggested it, she did not know everything. But she doubted she would ever figure out why people in a crisis insisted on behaving like nothing was amiss.

  They had been through a hurricane. Yes, it could have been much worse, but water had flooded parts of the island and then receded. There was a frickin’ hundred-year-old shipwreck on the beach where they’d been swimming a few days ago, and aside from her mother and father at each other’s throats, everyone behaved as if this was literally just another day at the beach.

  And if she were being honest with herself, she would have to admit that tension between her parents was nothing new. Another example of people shrugging their shoulders and continuing on. If a meteor had crashed onto the house next door, she thought everyone would just go all bug-eyed, shout “Holy shit, a meteor just killed those spring-breakers,” and then her mom would ask if they wanted pizza or burgers.

  A shriek tore along the beach, followed by a ripple of giddy laughter. Emma looked south and spotted a family playing at the water’s edge. The dad chased his daughter into the waves. Emma felt a little frisson of fear for the girl, since her own parents had warned her about the post-storm riptide, but then she figured the father was right there with her. The girl would be safe with her father watching over her.

  With a peal of laughter, she splashed her dad. He raised both arms and stomped into the surf in pursuit, grabbed her, and lifted her into his arms. She squealed with delight as he spun around and hurled her farther out. Arms and legs flailing, the girl plunged into the water. A wave swept over her and she vanished, then bobbed up again. When her arms flailed this time, they were reaching out in alarm. At this distance, Emma could not make out her expression, but she imagined panic there before the dad waded closer, plucked her from the water, and hugged her closely. She wrapped her arms around his neck with a ferocity of love that made Emma’s chest hurt. Part of her wished she had gone with her father and Kelsey out on the sightseeing boat, but then she remembered the sour person her dad was becoming and she felt cast adrift by her own emotions.

  Better to be alone, she thought. The words felt convincing in her head.

  Emma lay down on her beach towel, enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin. The temperature had dropped, so when the breeze kicked up she actually felt chilly. But then it would subside and the sun would bake again. From somewhere far off she heard the sound of a police siren, but with all the damage that had been done, she knew emergency crews were at work, so the siren didn’t worry her.

  She felt herself slipping into the warm, soft cradle where sleep seemed only a moment away. The sound of the surf lulled her. She heard a gull caw as it flew overhead. Down the beach, the little girl’s laughter erupted again and Emma felt herself smile as she drifted off.

  Flinching, she inhaled sharply and opened her eyes. It took her a moment to realize she’d heard a noise nearby, but then the voices came again and she let her head loll to the left and squinted through her sunglasses to see two of the spring-breakers on the beach. Rashad and one of the girls—Marianna, she thought—and wondered if the two of them were hooking up. He wore a purple T-shirt with a palm-tree logo on the back and a black bathing suit. Marianna had a white tank over her tiny bikini, but the bottoms didn’t cover much more than a thong. Emma thought the girl was overdoing it a bit. She had the body for it, but it just seemed a little extra.

  As she watched, Rashad and Marianna walked down to the shipwreck. They glanced surreptitiously to the left and right, and then quickly ducked under the police tape with a confidence that suggested this had been their sole purpose in coming out onto the beach. Emma hadn’t moved, but she kept watching. Whoever had been meant to guard the wreck had left their post, but it hadn’t occurred to Emma to cross the line. A lifetime of having the rules drummed into her head had stifled her curiosity.

  Rashad whispered something to Marianna. He hesitated, but she tugged at his arm, and he looked around one more time before they began moving alongside the wreck.

  Holy shit, Emma thought. They weren’t just examining the shipwreck. They were searching for a way inside.

  That got her up off her towel. She stood, brushed sand off her butt, and started straight for them, glancing around in a self-conscious imitation of their behavior from moments before. She tugged up the police tape and ducked under. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the father and daughter farther down the beach. The little girl had spotted her and now started toward her—toward the wreck—as if she too felt its curious lure, and seeing Emma cross the line had given her permission to do the same. Unfortunately for the little girl, her father grabbed her, shaking his head, and tossed her in the water again.

  Emma smiled to herself. The shipwreck was no place for a little girl to go exploring, so it was better that she have her dad around to play with her. Emma, though, was fourteen, and not a little girl anymore.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  She glanced up sharply to see Rashad and Marianna staring at her. They stood thigh deep in the water, at a place where the hull of the old blockade runner had broken in half. The rest of the ship had never come out of the Gulf, but up close, just half of the vessel seemed massive to Emma. The darkness inside the broken ship seemed to whisper with the noise that she had always heard when holding a seashell to her ear, as if this were the sound of the ocean itself and the ship had been on the bottom long enough to learn it well.

  Waves rolled even inside the hull. The sound shushed and echoed in there.

  “I’m coming with you,” Emma said. “I want to see what it looks like in there. Get some pictures.”

  The old wreck rocked a little with the waves, tipping toward shore, then tilting back as the tide rolled.

  “That’s a terrible idea,” Rashad told her. He frowned, his profile in sunlight, although the rest of his body was wreathed in the shadow of the old hulk. “You stay put. I’ve got enough trouble with your father already.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re the one who was flirting with my mother. Which, by the way, is disgusting.”

  “She’s right,” Marianna said, then quickly shot an apologetic glance at Emma. “Not your mother. She’s gorgeous.”

  “But she’s old,” Emma said.

  “And married,” Marianna added. “Sorry, kid. Rashad thinks he’s charming.”

  “Hey! I’m standing right here.” Rashad splashed her.

  “Don’t start,” Marianna warned. She smiled at Emma. “Anyway, come with us if you want. Just don’t tell your parents. We’re neighbors for a couple more days. I’d rather not talk to that cop again.”

  “Deputy,” Rashad said.

  Marianna rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She had tucked her cell phone into the elastic band at her hip. Now she plucked it out and flicked on the flashlight function, then stepped into the darkness of the shipwreck’s hull.

  Rashad glanced at Emma. “Do what you want. But if you’re coming, watch your step.”

  He followed Marianna. Emma hesitated a moment, thinking about how long the ship had been at the bottom of the Gulf and what kind of damage there might be. There was no telling where a piece of metal or wood might be broken or twisted out of shape. Every step could prove treacherous.

  Her heart pounded.

  She glanced back along the beach and saw the little girl and her father floating together in the waves.

  Emma stepped into the darkness.

  * * *

  Tyler told hims
elf it would be easier paddling the kayak on the way back. He and Kevin could have rented a double, but they had tried that once before and found themselves bickering whenever their paddles would get caught up together. Kevin always laughed about that sort of thing and declared the two of them an old married couple, but Tyler had never liked that comparison. They were neither old nor married, and Tyler didn’t like the suggestion that the bickering was healthy, or even normal. No rule said they had to fight in order to stay together. Separate kayaks helped avoid petty arguments.

  On the other hand, separate kayaks allowed them to indulge their natural competitive spirit.

  “That the best you can do?” Kevin said, grinning at him. “I might have to trade you in for a younger model.”

  Tyler dipped his paddle into the water, racing smoothly across the sound. Kevin had gotten ahead of him, but sweat sheened the smooth skin of his back, and Tyler could see the effort involved.

  “I’m pacing myself,” he said. “You’re going to burn out fast and then I’ll have to wait for your tired ass.”

  “We still talking about kayaking?” Kevin asked, huffing between strokes.

  “Ha ha.”

  Tyler wanted to tell him racing wasn’t necessary, but they had been dating for seven months and he had grown accustomed to the tension that competition created between them. Most of the time, it was all in good fun. Sometimes it ended in an argument and other times it ended in bed, but it all seemed to balance out in the end.

  The wind swept across the Roosevelt Channel, the water that separated Captiva from Buck Key Preserve. The sun felt warm and the salt air filled Tyler’s lungs. He could smell the coconut scent of his sunscreen as he bent into his paddling, and a beat of sweat ran down the center of his back. He glanced at Kevin and smiled at the sight of him, grimly serious in his efforts. “Isn’t this supposed to be a leisure activity?” he asked.