Tanner jerked the engine’s control arm and headed toward the harpoon. It was his all right, he could tell from ten feet away. He recognized the grip, the tip was broken off, and it had the same rope lanyard tie-off at the end of the handle. Tanner put the motor in neutral and eased himself to the bow of the boat. He leaned on the rubber gunnel and was about to dip his hand into the water when he remembered the many horror movies he’d seen where the unwitting protagonist puts his hand down a dirt hole, or into wall, or the most common use of this trope, sticking his hand in water known to contain danger.
Tanner cracked his neck and grabbed the broken harpoon. It had once been nine feet long, two-thirds handle and one-third steel tip, with the last foot being barbed. Half the steel tip was gone, cut clean off as if done with a laser cutter. There were no twists in the remaining metal, no signs of stress.
“Looks clipped clean off,” Sal said. “Just like the first one you hit it with.”
“You’re very observant.”
Sal looked at him and squinted, confusion filling his face as he tried to figure out if he was being insulted.
The rain had stopped and thick mist hung around every corner. Somewhere a screen door banged ceaselessly against its frame as an easterly wind tore through the flooded neighborhood. Tanner continued on and heard a chainsaw screaming to the north. The water was three feet above normal this far in and the outline of the bulkhead on both sides of the boat could be seen below the surface.
Tanner pulled his radio free and looked to Sal, who gave him nothing. Sal was two years out from retirement and wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. Tanner pushed him. “What do you think? Call in the cavalry?”
“I think the scales and harpoon might have been here five minutes or days. No way of knowing. We haven’t seen any of its shit, or anything else we could claim was a recent sign. I’d hold off.”
It was good advice. The problem was Sal didn’t have Tanner’s gut, which was telling him the thing was close. They came to the canal’s end and cut up a driveway to the east and through a backyard to the next canal. They floated across a lawn covered in three feet of water, and children’s toys and garbage eased back and forth on the grass below with the roll of the tide.
To their left, an oversized house missing two walls and its roof had a fountain of bubbles leaking out the front door. Tanner got a grenade and readied his MK18. He killed the engine and, using the boat’s momentum, he guided the Zodiac around the side of the house to get a glimpse of whatever was causing the bubbles.
The boat slid toward the opening on the side of the house and a mass of bubbles and whitewater roiled from what had been somebody’s living room. As they eased closer, the bubbles dissipated, and the water went flat. An eerie silence settled over the destroyed house. No birds squawked, no shiners jumped from the water. There was no sign of life.
“You think it heard us?” Sal said.
“At first, I thought it was some type of leak, maybe a broken natural gas pipe, but it stopped when we approached.” Tanner was concerned. They were floating within the house and if the creature surfaced, it would do so directly beneath them.
Tanner detached the oars held in place on the side of the Zodiac by two short bungee cords. He flipped up the oarlocks and fit in the oars. He rowed gently, lifting the oars from the water delicately, trying not to disturb the water or make noise, and the Zodiac inched backward.
Tanner breathed a sigh of relief when they were outside, under the blanket of dark clouds. Tanner moved the boat away from the house and stopped next to the house’s lamppost, the top of which stuck from the water like a forlorn tree in a decimated forest. He tied the Zodiac off on the post and leaned back, sighing and running his hand through his hair as he sucked in air. Sal watched him intently, waiting for Tanner to declare their next move. It was obvious to Tanner by the look on Sal’s face that he would rather have been anywhere else in the world at that moment.
Several minutes passed and Tanner said nothing. Sal couldn’t contain himself any longer. It was fun watching his fellow officer’s stages of frustration and anger play across his face. “We just gonna sit here and wait until the thing gets hungry?”
“No. Not you, anyway. I think I’ve got a plan,” Tanner said.
“Ruh oh,” Sal said, doing his best Scooby-Doo impersonation. “You think the thing’s in there? How could it fit?”
“In the basement, though I don’t know how it got in there. A caved-in foundation wall, maybe.”
“What do you mean not me?” The excitement was clear in Sal’s voice.
“See that broken window there?” Tanner pointed to a house across the street that had a double-sized doghouse jutting from its roof, its blown-out double window facing the street.
“Yup.”
“I’m thinking you drop me off over there, and I sit up in that window and wait with the bazooka. You start the motor and make a big show of leaving, and as you do that, you can leave a chum slick right here where we’re sitting. Draw the thing out and I’ll nail it.” It sounded even crazier now that he’d said it out loud.
Sal’s face brightened again. “That might work, but what happens if the thing attacks the house? You’ll have nowhere to run.”
Tanner hadn’t thought of that. “Once you get clear, call Jefferson and Randy. Pull them into the marina and be ready to engage when I call you.”
Sal nodded vigorously as if he was still trying to convince himself that this madness was a good idea.
Tanner untied the boat and rowed across the street and inched the Zodiac up to the house’s front porch. He tied off the boat, gathered his weapons, grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water, and stepped onto the flooded porch.
“You almost forgot this.” Sal handed Tanner a radio.
“That would have sucked,” Tanner said.
“Good luck. See you in a bit.” Sal untied the boat and let it drift back toward the street. Tanner watched as Sal opened a small container filled with the rankest rotten flesh he’d ever smelled, and the officer ladled the decomposed maggot-infested chum into the water. The slick floated toward the target house. Sal saw his slick growing and where it was going and quickly sealed up the container and started the outboard. He wasted no time bringing the motor up to full power, and within a minute he was gone, leaving only his wake and the faint sound of the engine whining.
The house’s front door was locked, but it didn’t take much to spring it open. Water lapped across the plush carpet of someone’s living room. Household debris floated in the floodwater, an LCD TV hung on one wall, and everything else had the beginnings of green mold covering its surface. The stairs were straight ahead and Tanner mounted them, pushing the urge to cry from his mind. It was difficult witnessing the destruction, the lives destroyed, and the families broken and displaced. Again he wondered what the people who’d live here would do, and where would they go?
Once upstairs, he moved a chair in front of the window and planted himself in it. It was the perfect spot to view the house across the street. No sooner had the sound of the Zodiac’s motor faded than bubbles poured from the front door of the house across the street.
Tanner laid out the bazooka and the two shells he’d brought next to the chair and placed a grenade on the windowsill before him. Then he checked his Glock and his MK18. He sighted the rifle, making sure he could get a good bead on both sides of the house, and waited.
The crinkle of paper being unfolded as Tanner unwrapped his sandwich filled the room and he paused, staring across the street with trepidation. There was no sign the sound had stirred anything, so he finished and ate. Twenty minutes later, his sandwich was gone, he’d drunk his water, and he was bored. How did hunters sit in a tree all day waiting for a deer to come by?
The clock ticked on. Tanner took a pull off his flask and waited.
18
Tanner dozed, and it was after 4PM when the bubbles increased in strength and snapped him to attention. Sal’s slick had spread across the
area, and the odor was so strong it made Tanner gag. He lifted the MK18 and placed his forearms on the windowsill. The weather had cleaned up, but it was still overcast and damp, the humidity so thick it was like breathing Jell-O. Sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes and Tanner wiped them away with his shirtsleeve.
Whitewater poured from the house across the street, bubbling over what was left of the walls and out through the missing roof like a soda that’s been shaken and then opened. Seaweed and all manner of flotsam surged forth, and a section of the house’s front wall collapsed. Two large pieces shot across the flooded road.
The leviathan emerged from the mound of bubbles, its black scimitar-like tail appearing first, ready to strike. Huge claws floated to the surface, followed by the creature’s black segmented carapace. Floodwater heaved around the beast’s underbelly as its spiderlike appendages beat and pushed at the water to keep the monstrosity afloat. Tanner sighted the MK18 where he thought the scorpion’s head would surface and flicked off the safety.
The MK18 was a close quarter’s combat weapon developed by the US Navy. It was a short-barreled variant of the AR15, and its gas-powered rotating bolt churned out thirty shots in seconds. The shorter barrel makes the gun compact and easier to use in tight spaces like ships or submarines. Tanner had fired similar weapons in the past, but he’d never fired this particular weapon, and that worried him.
The sea scorpion’s head inched from the water and Tanner jerked back in astonishment as he got a good look at the immense creature for the first time. He’d studied pictures of fossils showing the prehistoric Jaekelopterus, and other than the front claws being much larger and the giant antennas, that was exactly what the beast looked like. The antennas were a foot around where they met the hard black shell of the creature’s head, and they ran twenty feet in length. Its mouth hung open, revealing rows of teeth accented with two long fangs. Above its mouth, two black eyes the size of basketballs rotated and scanned the area. The left eye had blue blood around it and Tanner saw the steel tip of his harpoon sticking from it. The beast’s good eye swiveled in his direction and Tanner felt it searching for him as if it could sense his presence.
Tanner’s dad used to say even the most docile of creatures would become violent if cornered. Instinct took over and the animal’s learned responses were put on hold as its primordial brain asked itself the question of flight or fight. Though Tanner sat in wait for the creature, his caveman mind considered the same question. He could sit tight, hide, and the thing would leave or submerge. Or he could attack it and send it back to hell.
Tanner dropped to the floor and held his breath. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so tough. The steady sound of bubbles eased, and he lifted his head above the windowsill and took a peek. The beast was floating about, sucking in the slick, searching for its source. With all the wildlife fleeing, the sea scorpion would have no source of food. His father’s words came back to him again: the only thing more dangerous than a cornered animal is a hungry animal.
Tanner loaded the bazooka and leaned it against the wall. He wanted to hit this thing in the face, so he’d have to get it to come right at him. Then when the leviathan was bearing down on him, he’d put the two-and-a-half-inch incendiary rocket right down the bastard’s throat. Tanner smiled and braced himself on the window again as he sighted the MK18.
The sea scorpion didn’t have much room to move between the houses, and the water wasn’t deep enough for it to swim, so the beast scuttled across the flooded neighborhood looking for food, its antennas always searching. When it came parallel to Tanner’s position, he fired.
The quick burst of bullets struck the creature’s armored carapace, and the monster bucked, kicking up sea spray as it tried to dive. It hit the blacktop road below with a loud thud and sprang up. Tanner loosed another burst and it struck the armored shell around the creature’s face. The scorpion spun toward Tanner. He opened up, spraying the creature with bullets and emptying the MK18.
Tanner dropped the weapon and lifted the bazooka, setting it on his shoulder as he flipped up the eyesight. It was an older weapon that still worked because of its basic design. The M9 rocket launcher was thirty-one inches long and weighted sixteen pounds. It could penetrate armor plating up to four inches and its solid propellant shells traveled at two hundred sixty-five feet per second and packed quite the punch. Tanner had never fired such a weapon, but he’d been told it was recoilless so he didn’t think it would be hard.
Blue blood streaked across the creature’s face as it turned and came right at Tanner. Water swelled as the beast clawed through the flood, ripping up blacktop and turf. Tanner held the bazooka steady, but his hands shook and sweat dripped into his eyes. The sea scorpion was forty yards away and closing, and the deep hum of its voice rose above the crashing water as Tanner prepared to fire. The creature roared, its mouth opening as it lunged toward the house.
Tanner pulled the trigger. The solid propellant in the rocket ignited and a flash of fire spit out the back of the launch tube. Tanner flinched, and the nose of the bazooka flicked upward an inch as the shell streaked from the tube and flew toward the monster.
The one-inch barrel lift grew exponentially as the rocket closed the forty yards between Tanner and the creature’s open mouth, and when it reached its target, the rocket’s trajectory had changed enough to allow the shell to pass inches above the scorpion’s head. It struck the house behind the monster and exploded in a dazzling display of black smoke and fire. The remains of the house burned above the floodwater and smoke filled the area.
Tanner heard the beast coming on but couldn’t see it. He fumbled for the second rocket but as he did so, the creature crashed into the house and he was thrown to the floor. Boards creaked and snapped and the floor beneath him collapsed, the corner to his right sinking precipitously at an angle. The house shook and walls cracked and pieces of the ceiling fell. His heart raced in his chest, and he heard his mother’s voice in the back of his head yelling at him to be careful.
Through the swirling smoke, Tanner saw the sea scorpion’s spike rearing and preparing to strike. It stabbed downward and came through the roof ten feet from where Tanner lay. The cicada-like buzz grew until it blocked out all other sound, and Tanner’s ears rang. Floodwater lashed against the house as the creature thrashed about, blue blood smattering the water and the remains of the house.
Tanner fitted the rocket into the launcher and got to his feet. He felt for his Glock and found it in its holster on his hip. He checked for his flask and radio and gasped. The radio was no longer clipped to his belt. He searched about him and saw it sliding toward the corner that was caving in. He went for it, snatching it up and carefully backing away as the floor buckled beneath his feet.
The black spike pierced the roof feet in front of Tanner, and he jumped back and drew his Glock. He fired four times, each bullet hitting home and taking small chunks from the spike as it retracted and disappeared from view. The creature bellowed, and the spike came down again, this time right next to Tanner. He ran for the door in the back of the room, but the front of the house was falling away and the floor was going with it. A bed and large dresser skidded past him as he fought to keep from slipping into the wreckage.
The window darkened as the beast breached from the water and attacked the house, claws grabbing wood and the great spike smashing through the roof. The floor gave out, and the roof collapsed. Tanner fell, clutching the bazooka as though it was the last thing he’d ever see. Wood rained down as he fell, and the roaring and confusion engulfed him as he plummeted into the floodwater below.
19
Tanner had once paddled class four whitewater on the Green River, and he’d been thrown from his kayak and sucked into a hole where he endured the most difficult four minutes of his life. A powerful torrent of water had pressed him beneath the surface, and after great effort, he’d emerged into fresh air for an instant only to get sucked under again, as though he were in a clothes washer and endlessly spinning on the rin
se cycle. As the house collapsed around him and water filled his mouth, he remembered how good it felt when he’d freed himself of the river.
He hit the floodwater hard, but it broke his fall. He landed on his right side and crashed into the floor with a splat and waves of displaced water washed over him. A chunk of the floor fell on him, and Tanner rolled toward a wall hoping for protection. Everything went dark as wood and debris pushed him into the turbulent water. He took a deep breath and dove, pain crippling his right leg.
He thought of Audrey. When they met. The biggest mistake in his life was letting her go. He thought of Jefferson. Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to mess that relationship up. Tanner sucked in water and coughed. Wood and soggy sheetrock rained down on him, but some light had returned. Forty-two years old. Disgraced.
A boy swam before him in the debris. The boy he’d shot and killed. His dark eyes watched Tanner as he was buried beneath the falling house. The boy’s hair floated above his head, and he wore the same dark shirt, a bullet hole drenched in blood on its front. A small crab came out of the boy’s ear, scuttled across his face, and moved down his neck into the bullet hole.
“Why?” the boy asked. Bubbles leaked from his lips and he smiled, sharp teeth slipping over gums.
“I didn’t mean it,” Tanner yelled. He kept yelling it until he couldn’t hear himself anymore.
“So that’s it, huh?”
It was Mom.
Tanner fought to get his head above water, swimming beneath a large section of floor wedged against the remains of a wall. He surfaced under this protective pocket, gasping for air as the raging water tried to suck him under again. Small waves pushed him as debris sloshed around in the maelstrom.
The Breach Page 9