by Ron Rayborne
A shadow fell across them and the water about, and Tom jumped. He looked up to see a colossal form circling above looking down at them. Osteodontornis. What could this new thing be, it must have wondered? Tying the sail to one side while working the tiller every so often to maintain their direction, Tom lay back and returned its gaze. It was like a giant seagull, only its head was sort of pelican-like and its beak had tooth-like projections around the edge. The tips of its feathers fluttered lightly. When the bird swooped over he could just make out a whooshing sound. Mostly it glided, but when it flew, it flapped in slow up and down motions. There weren’t gangs of them; they seemed to prefer groups of two or three. He wondered how they ate fish. It would seem that take off from water would be an arduous affair. In a minute, he got his answer.
The osteodonts indeed never landed in the water, least not that Tom observed. What they did was to fly in big, lazy looking circles, scanning the subsurface for fish, then suddenly they’d sweep down upon them. But these were not just any fish. He’d not noticed them before, but did when he carefully watched one of the great birds. It swooped low, then rose, swooped and rose. The others followed its lead, again, never actually touching the water itself.
He thought he saw something else there, then got out the binocs and looked. That’s when he saw them, flying fish, they were jetting from the water, gliding high over the surface, then dropping back in some distance away. Fantastic, Tom mused, fish that fly! If one didn’t see them with his own eyes, one could, quite understandably, doubt their existence. Yet, what would make these fish jump to their deaths, he wondered. That answer came when a kentriodon jumped out after them. Then others did. Ah, it was a feeding frenzy.
On the outskirts was yet another dolphin-like mammal, this one having a long, narrow, beak-like mouth full of teeth, and tiny eyes. When a fish flew in its direction, it would suddenly reach up with those scissor-like jaws and snatch it from the air. Pomatodelphis, the P.I. said when he focused on one that exposed its upper body. They were supposedly near blind as they generally lived on muddy river bottoms where sight was of little use. Using their superior echolocation however, they were obviously able to calculate the fish’s trajectory. He watched for a few minutes longer, noting that, even with the triple threat, there seemed to be no lack of flying fish, most of them evading the trap.
Tom put the binocs away and continued to navigate toward land, though now he was aiming farther down the coast. They glided along smoothly now, the raft taking very little effort to steer. Tom began to whistle. Little still stood at the head of their craft watching everything with keen interest. It went this way for a time.
Then something unsettling happened. A monstrously large, gray shape went under them. It continued for what seemed a long time, then it was gone. Tom’s eyes went wide.
“What-the-hell-was-that?” he asked aloud, frightened. Little stood back from the edge and barked at the form. He quickly shushed her. Next to them, then, on their left, or port side, another form slid by, quiet as a whisper. Then another on the right. Tom wracked his brain to remember. His mother had told him about them he was sure, but he could not recall. Giants in the ocean. He gulped. He wanted to snap a picture, but could not as they were submerged. How could he forget?
In a minute, they were gone and the threat passed. It was odd that they appeared to be trying get as close to the raft as possible without actually touching it. He wondered why they hadn’t simply knocked he and Little into the water and eaten them. It would have been easy enough to do. But they hadn’t. Still, the idea that there were creatures that big here scared him; they completely dwarfed the Paleos. Tom decided that maybe it would be best to head to land after all. Turning the rudder slightly, he made for it, now ten miles distant. Once again, he had let his assumptions put them in danger.
Now he kept his eyes peeled on the water below them as much as on the horizon. To his astonishment, he discovered that there was a host of strange sea life all around them. Though he did not know what they were, he saw in the clear blue waters, Manta rays, Diamond Back Stingrays, Butterfly rays, Eagle Bat rays, Giant herring, Giant Sea basses, Mackerel, Surgeonfish, Tuna, Pufferfish, Sunfish, Guitarfish, Sawfish and Skates.
All was not serenity, however, as the Temblor also swarmed with sharks, including the Tope shark, Requiem shark, Tiger shark, Sand Tiger shark, Angel shark, Bramble shark, Lemon shark, Blacktip shark, Sharpnose shark, Gray shark, Hound shark and Smooth-Hound shark, Catshark, Swellshark, Basking shark, Bullhead or “Horn” shark, Dogfish shark, Thresher shark, Six and Seven Gilled sharks, Mega-Mouth shark, Snaggletooth shark, and Hammerhead shark. The shark that dominated by sheer numbers though was the Mako and variations thereof (Hook-Tooth Mako, Longfin Mako, Shortfin Mako and Giant Mako). Had Tom known the potential for danger should they fall in, he would have opted for the long trek back to the mountains. As it was, he’d never heard of a shark before. Important sea scavengers, they were gone by the late Anthropocene (along with dolphins, whales and most fish), victims of pollution and ruthless human predation. When he saw their telltale dorsal fins moving about above water he scratched his head as to what they could be. Then he saw one up close and recoiled at the teeth. When he had to stop at one point to reattach the sail at the bottom corner, they were soon inundated with curious Blacktips swimming circles around them. Fortunately, they showed no inclination to follow once the raft got moving again.
Notwithstanding the unknowns and the fears, still, sitting on the deck of his craft while holding onto the tiller, crystalline blue waters below, salt spray in his face and the cry of gulls in his ears, Tom could not help but exult, and ripping along, he laughed with joy.
Miles past the sharks, he began again to reconsider his decision to make speedy landfall. So long as there was no apparent or immediate threat, why not coast the coast? If he stayed close they should be able to make the beach quickly, if necessary. Thus, a quarter-mile from land, Tom turned the tiller slightly left and began to parallel the shore.
Not only was the sea full of life, the beach was too, he noted. There were basking sea lions by the hundreds, Neotherium they were, and the big dugong, Metaxytherium. Around another juncture he saw Pelagiarctos, a ten foot middle Miocene walrus and fearsome carnivore with fangs instead of tusks. As he watched, a gang of three was attacking a large group of Allodesmus. Evidently they both claimed the same territory. The Allos, though smaller in size, defended themselves by charging the Pelas in numbers. It seemed a fair fight, although the Allos looked to be taking a beating. Tom did not want to hang around to see the end.
Around the mouths of the larger deltas were more of the river dolphins, Pomatodelphis, and the dugongs Dusisiren and Dioplotherium, while onshore lay dozens of Thecachampsia, a marine crocodile. They were drinking in the sun, some with mouths open wide as if hoping something would land within.
Besides Aglaocetus, the baleen whales he’d seen earlier, many other whales also swam this warm, semi-shallow sea. There was Parietobalaena, another baleen whale, Scaldicetus, and Aulophyseter, extinct sperm whales, Tiphyocetus, Peripolocetus, and still other whales roamed these fertile waters. Rounding a headland, he drifted past the skeletal remains of a Herpetocetus that had washed ashore.
Not counting the Kentriodon and Pomatodelphis, other dolphin/whale like cetaceans were here as well, like the toothed Oedolithax, Nannolithax, Platylithax, Liolithax, Grypolithax, Lamprolithax and Loxolithax.
Sky, beaches and hillsides also teemed with avifauna, all squawking, jousting or cavorting, while white sandy banks that rose ever so gradually to grassy meadowland drifted silently by. The gentle sound of water running along the sides of the raft, leaving a soft wake in its passing was hypnotic. It was all so peaceful and the sun so delicious that Tom’s eyelids began to droop. He successfully fought the urge to sleep for another hour, jerking his head up several times, but, inevitably, lying back ‘just for a moment’, Tom fell asleep.
He woke abruptly to the sound of Little barking. A bump unde
r the raft lifted it slightly and pushed him over. He opened his eyes.
“What’re you...” he began, squinting around him. There was another bump, harder this time. Tom blinked, rubbed his eyes and looked out to land. It was a long way off. While he slept, the boat had followed its own course, the way of the wind. He stumbled to his feet, holding onto the mast pole for support. There was a large, dark hump in the water ahead of them, something with an enormous dorsal fin attached. It continued there for a moment, then soundlessly dove, barely making a ripple. There was a long pause, then ... Thud! This one lifted the raft up a foot on one side, and both scrambled to remain on deck.
Tom’s heart began to beat hard in his chest. It beat so hard that he thought it might burst. He gulped, saying nothing, trying to get a gauge on what was happening. Again, the huge, dark form was in front of them. Some animal, a type of the finned kind he’d seen earlier, but much, much larger. It was toying with them, coolly trying to toss them into the water.
“Oh no!” Tom yelled. Immediately he grabbed hold of the tiller, and, hands trembling, turned it. The raft turned too, though now, as the wind had died down some, it seemed incredibly slow to respond.
“Oh please,” Tom said anxiously, “please.” Slowly they picked up speed. Intrigued, the huge shark easily kept up, swimming apace on the right, then surfacing to catch a glimpse of them. It stayed nearby for another minute before it dove yet again just below the surface. The animal was a dark gray/black, which alternated in vague, diagonal, ribbon-like waves across its sides. The effect was clearly camouflage, helping it to blend into moving water. A creature its size would be rather obvious if not disguised, and that would make the catching of prey difficult.
Little did Tom know, this was Carcharocles megalodon, Meg for short, at sixty feet, it was the largest shark ever to roam earth’s seas. And it was the marine terror of the Miocene.
Tom looked around for the beast, sensing that it might be coming up behind them. Glare from the sun there blinded him. When a moment went by and nothing else happened, he hoped that the creature, curiosity satisfied, had left. They were picking up speed now as the wind began blowing onshore. Not seeing any more sign of the animal, he tried to relax. Little, drool spilling out the side of her maw onto her coat, watched for the Meg from her spot at the front of the craft. Tom noticed ahead of them now, as they got closer to shore, that more of the sea lion-like creatures they’d seen earlier were swimming and leaping in the water towards land, as were some of its larger denizens. Moving fast, he thought. He scanned the waters around them as they headed in the same direction. Still no sign of the big shark.
Tom was midway into self-congratulation when, out of nowhere, the pair were flying from the raft and into the air with raft flying after them. Tom looked over to Little. She seemed to hang there for a long time, turning in a slow aerial somersault. He closed his eyes as he hit the water, heels first, in a mute somersault of his own. Then he was under.
He’d been here before, under water, the only sound, that of bubbles of air forced in with him. So sudden. Down, down. Then he was rising and at the surface once more, gasping and sucking in air.
A wave crashed against his face, and he swallowed. Up and down he went on the breakers, instinctually dog paddling. He tried to see what was happening. There was the raft twenty feet away, mast gone. Tom swam toward it, but it was hard in the choppy water. Finally, he reached it. With an arm on the side, he looked around for Little, but couldn’t see her. A terrifying thought went through his head, What if she was taken by that giant? He climbed onboard laboriously, then stood, dripping, shaking, and looked out. There was a knob on the rollers. It was her. She too was dog paddling.
“LITTLE!” Tom cried out. She turned toward him and barked. It was a fearful bark that sounded like, Help! “Come on, girl!” he yelled, and obeying, she began to swim toward him. The waves were weakening now as the commotion abated. In a minute, the raft merely rocked on the declining surf, going nowhere without a sail. Still, it was a solid place. Thinking of the Meg again, Tom shot a glance around him. Nothing obvious. He wondered where it had gone. Maybe it was even now rising in another swift attack.
Little closed the distance, still swimming toward him. Tom worried that something would seize her from below. Then she was there at the side. Try as she might though, she could not climb aboard. Tom, as before, jumped in and held onto the raft with one hand while pushing her up with the other. Finally, she was on. Then he struggled up as well. He looked out again to find the Meg, and saw movement farther out toward the southwest, away from land. Another big form was swimming by. Whale. It looked about a half-mile away. And now he saw the fin moving toward it, cutting through the water like a giant knife. Their Meg. It had foregone them for larger prey. A second later, the fin was gone. Meg was diving. Where before it was merely toying with them the way a cat might a mouse, now was serious business. A whale had happened along too close for its own good.
Tom felt a pity for the other leviathan. Three of them had come and gone without so much as a bump, while the evil-toothed Meg had intended to kill and eat them, perhaps flossing with their bones. He watched in morbid fascination. The whale was evidently unaware it was being stalked, the Meg having shut off all sonar. When the larger of the two, the whale, discovered the Meg, it moved swiftly, quicker than Tom would have thought possible for such a large animal. It turned to head west, to deeper water, flapping its tail. Then, suddenly there was another big splash and all was chaos. The two fought there for five minutes, the whale fighting back with everything it had. It beat the Meg with its tail and rammed it with its head, all the while it was calling out for help from others of its kind. Shortly another whale charged in, and it too rammed the Meg.
It was not enough. The Meg had bitten the whale on the rear, a deep, tearing gash, and blood was spilling into the sea. Tom could see the red now in the churning water. Still, the whale fought, even chasing the big Meg for a ways. The shark headed off a bit to recover from its beating, but remained in the vicinity, waiting. It was only a matter of time. The other whale stayed near the first, protecting it from another assault. But it was too late. In fifteen minutes, the stricken whale was turning sideways. Soon it would be dead. After the Meg was done, dozens of smaller sharks would come in to finish up. By tomorrow, there would be no sign that the battle of a lifetime had happened here.
Tom wanted out of the water, onto the safety of land. He’d had no idea the sea harbored such fearful creatures. Problem was, the mast was gone. Or was it? Now he saw the bottom of the mast sticking through the center of the raft, and the rudder at the end. She was upside down! He stuck his head in the water to look. Yes, the mast was still there, though pointing in the wrong direction. And there was his backpack still tied to the deck, hanging down. That frightened him. He thought about trying to turn her over, but soon gave that up as impossible. What if he could take the mast off and bring it around to the new top side? No, he didn’t think that would work either. He looked at the shore; it didn’t look that far away; he thought that he could do it, but doubted if Little could swim that distance. Then he remembered the oar he’d made. He stuck his head in again. Luckily, it, too, was still lashed there.
Tom took a gulp of air, and, holding on with his hands, slipped over the side. From there he swam to his pack, opened a wing pocket and found his knife, carefully extracting it and resealing to keep other items from falling out. Then looping a strap around one arm, cut it loose and brought it topside, laying it on deck. Then it was back under to cut the oar loose. Then the thermal blanket. At last it was time to cut the mast loose. He severed the under-ties, then holding the knife in his teeth, made back for the side and up again. Little was there with her face almost in his, whining.
“Back up, girl,” Tom told her, hoisting himself on. Restored to the craft, albeit on its underside now, Tom cut away the remaining straps holding the mast. That loosened it, and when he stood and stomped, the mast went through and out, then rose and bob
bed next to them.
After folding and storing the blanket, he set his sights for the nearest shore, and began to paddle. It wasn’t easy. What he really needed were two paddles, and a way to attach them to the raft, but he hadn’t realized that before. So he stood and paddled, first off one side, then the other. Incrementally they made progress, and after a long time, his arms painful with strain, they reached the first undulations, budding waves forming when the seabed beneath began to rise and force the water onto land. He paddled some more, and then they were moving on the tops of low breakers, advancing toward the beach. Tom tried to steady his raft, but finally just sat, holding onto Little while the swell carried them on. Soon, sea lions moving out of their way, they were there, beached fifteen feet from dry sand.
Tom grabbed the pack and jumped off with Little following. They sloshed the rest of the way in. Fortunately these animals were shy, and, making “urching” sounds, galumphed out of their way. Perhaps it was the sight of the Aelurodon. Whatever, Tom thanked them. Then he lay down. Little too was drained, and, barking a warning at the sea lions, lay down next to him.
And there, on the warm Miocene sands, encircled by a troop of lions, they slept.
Chapter 27
Walking, walking, walking. I am so tired. So tired. How far have I walked in the
past few days? Losing a lot of weight. Maybe not such a bad thing. Ha!
I’m dirty, my clothes, torn, ragged, my hair filthy. Saw a reflection of myself
in water and laughed. This pack no longer feels so heavy.
Physically I am getting stronger. But mentally...
Such beauty around me, it’s exhilarating. I forget why I am walking,
where I am going, and sit under a tree on a hill, simply looking, simply being.