Leviathan

by Jared Sandman

  “I’ll give ‘em credit, they pimped out their ride pretty sweet,” Mikey said. “I couldn’t turn my car into an amphibious vehicle.”

  “Neither could they,” Chad said as he grabbed a megaphone underneath the front seat. “THIS IS THE UNITED STATES COAST GUARD. RETURN TO YOUR COUNTRY OF ORIGIN. GO BACK NOW.” Working alongside the U.S. Border Patrol, the Coast Guard estimated an average of one hundred successful landings or interceptions each week.

  “Should we hit ‘em with the water cannon?” Mikey asked with sadistic delight. “Com’on, it’d be funny.”

  “Lay off,” Chad said. “Nobody wants to deal with your bullshit.” It hurt him to see the hope dim in these folks’ eyes. They were trying to better their lives, a noble cause. It was against U.S. policy however, part of the 1966 Cuban Adjustment Act.

  Chad idled beside the sinking car. “Qué está equivocado?” he asked: What’s wrong? Immediately he understood how rhetorical the question sounded. There were four individuals: a pregnant woman, an older gentleman, a boy and a man. Chad asked them, “Habla ingles?”

  “Hablo poquito inglés,” Miguel said. I speak little English.

  Mikey, impatient as ever, pushed aside Chad. Hanging over the gunwale, he stuck out his arm. “Grab my hand,” he said. The family stared at him. He thought how to rephrase the command in Spanish. “Uh . . . el grabbo.”

  “El grabbo?” Chad said. “Try asga la manò.”

  Mikey shook his arm. “Asga la manò.”

  The woman reached out first. She stepped onto the Coast Guard boat, using Mikey and Chad’s outstretched hands to steady herself.

  Mikey turned to the rest of the Espinozas, elbowed his partner in the ribs and pointed. “Check it out.” About a hundred yards from the car it seemed to be raining. But only in a specific spot, as if the clouds had opened for a very localized shower.

  Chad squinted for a better look at the phenomenon. No, it wasn’t pouring after all. Fat raindrops didn’t pelt the water; rather, water droplets vibrated upward like jumping beans. Odder still, the patch was moving . . . right toward them.

  “Prisa,” Chad said. Hurry. Then with more force: “Prisa, prisa, prisa!” He kept an eye on the advancing spot. The boy appeared transfixed by it. The elderly man grabbed the youngster and hefted him up to the Americans. Juan then started tossing their belongings onto the cutter.

  Lightning flashed overhead, and the accompanying thunderclap sounded like a head of lettuce being rent asunder. The shadowy patch in the water was almost on them now. Chad held out his hand to the old man —

  — at the moment they were attacked.

  The only visible part of the creature was its head, which made it hard to gauge its total size. The tip of its bulbous snout to its eyes measured a solid six feet. The beast snapped at the floating vehicle, teeth piercing the hull. The attack was violent enough to catapult Juan into the water.

  “Mi Dios,” the doctor said. As the car slipped under the waves, Miguel dived as far from the animal as possible. A large balloon of air bubbles escaped from the interior of the Nash.

  “Get them outta the water,” Chad ordered Mikey.

  “Whaddya want me to do?”

  “I dunno, jump in?”

  “Huh-uh, screw that. Ain’t no way I’m going in. What the hell is that thing, a shark or something?”

  “Quick, grab a life ring.”

  José saw the beast beside the cutter. The boy whispered to his mother and hugged her tight. Mikey heaved a floatation device to the treading men. It landed near the elderly gentleman, who passed it on to the younger man. Miguel shook his head and pushed it back. Juan took the ring and offered it to the doctor again. “Pase,” he told his son-in-law: Go on.

  Miguel needn’t say anything because his face expressed his gratitude. He accepted the ring and half-swam to the cutter, the coastguardsmen together pulling him.

  Juan continued to float behind the physician. The water vibrations began anew, and Juan was close enough to hear a rumbling noise the creature made under the waves. It sounded akin to the busted outboard. The beast’s head bobbed up near him, its eye staring laterally above the waterline. Its gaze absorbed Juan, for there was such beauty in something so powerful and lethal. When their eyes met, the old man understood the end of his life had come. The Bible preached that he’d live forever, which he honestly believed. Right now his copy of the Good Book rested at the bottom of the sea, one hundred and fifty meters below. Juan thought it fitting this creature should kill him. As a fisherman his greatest fear was having the ocean swallow him one day. He was afraid to never see his beloved Marta again. Since she had already passed away, the old man was honored to proffer himself on the altar of the Atlantic.

  The beast dispatched him with a flick of its jaws.

  “Vaya con Dios,” Maria whispered as she crossed herself. Go with God, she told her father. José gasped at the grisly display, buried his head in Maria’s bosom. So long as he lived, the boy would never forget witnessing his grandfather’s death. In two bites the old man was gone.

  Miguel glanced backward then rushed to the cutter in a burst of speed. Chad hung over the side, his arm dangling near the water as Mikey reeled in the doctor. The beast focused on its next meal. With a final kick, Miguel latched onto the guardsman’s hand. Chad tried to pull him up and said, “Little help here.” Mikey joined in, and they dragged the doctor halfway onboard before the monster struck again.

  Its head snapped up and rotated as it ripped away Miguel, both of them disappearing into the depths. Maria screamed and José collapsed to his knees. Water around the boat churned pink with blood.

  Chad fell onto the deck, still gripping Miguel’s severed stump.

  Mikey’s hands trembled as he reached for the marine radio. “Mayday. Mayday, this is Wilbanks. We’re under siege. Repeat, under siege. Does anyone read, over?”

  “Don’t bother,” Chad told him. “We need to get the hell outta here.” He dropped the limb and revved the boat engine. Everyone grasped onto something solid as he pulled a sharp U-turn and gunned it toward land. After a minute he asked his partner, “Is it following us?”

  Mikey shook his head. “I don’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean it ain’t there.”

  Ocean spray coated them as they blasted through the waves. Chad noticed the Cubans were staring at the amputated arm, tears streaking their faces. “Get that outta sight,” he said.

  “I don’t wanna touch it,” Mikey replied. Chad glared at him. “Okay, I’m on it.” Mikey scurried up to the pair and pointed at the water. Maria knew what he was doing, and she played along to keep José from noticing too.

  When they turned to look away, Mikey scooped up the appendage. It was still warm. Returning to his partner, he found a storage carton filled with lifejackets stowed under the main console. He dumped the vests and placed the arm inside. “What are we gonna do with them?” he asked Chad.

  “Not up to us. I’ll stop offshore and radio for further instructions. Chances are, we’ll have to send them back.”

  “Even after what happened? Hell, I’m traumatized — and I didn’t even know those guys. I can’t imagine what they’re going through.”

  Chad nodded in agreement and glanced at the container. Everything that remained of Miguel Espinoza and his dreams about a better life for his family fit inside a bloody cardboard box.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TWO KAYACKERS CUT a W in their wake as they paddled side by side. The water was still, the weather calm and beautiful: a typical late afternoon in Florida. It was standard in summertime for early evening thunderstorms to blossom over the Atlantic Ocean and push onto land. They didn’t last long, fifteen to twenty minutes of steady rain, and weren’t violent for the most part. Just enough to cool down the harsh temperatures and dispel the thick humidity in the air. Today there were a few cumulus clouds near the horizon and a cirrus wisp high in the atmosphere.

  “How much farther?” Amber asked. Her shoulderblades ached, and she
felt restricted by the bright yellow life vest chaffing her armpits. Her boyfriend insisted she wear it for safety.

  “Not a lot,” Brad said. “I can see it up ahead.” Last month they’d celebrated two years together. Both were in law school, a semester shy of graduation. They’d met at a singles’ get-together organized by their local church and embarked on a relationship soon thereafter.

  The kayaking excursion had been Brad’s idea. He thought it would be nice to plan a romantic dinner on one of the small sandbars off the coast. They’d been rowing for half an hour when he spied the cay. It was the top of a dead coral reef, covered with shifting sand from the undercurrent. Only above the waterline at low tide, it rose and fell from view twice a day.

  “There,” he said. Brad took the lead and paddled to the tiny island. He pushed hard to run the kayak aground. Amber hung back while her boyfriend struggled out. Grabbing the craft with one arm, he hauled it completely ashore then waded into the lukewarm water to guide her boat onto dry land.

  Amber stepped out and asked, “How’d you find this place?”

  “Saw it last week when I was riding out here on the Sea-Doo. Isn’t it a great hideaway?”

  An adventurous couple, they were always on the search for the next great expedition. During the school year they didn’t get out of the apartment often, which led to frayed nerves and cabin fever, so in the summer months they planned at least two mini-vacations. Last year they traveled to Peru, eager to explore the lost Incan city of Machu Picchu. Believing it would hold the same allure and tranquility as when Hiram Bingham discovered it in 1909, they instead found the area trampled by tourists and locals hawking gaudy souvenirs. It had upset them to see the ruins further ruined by greed and pollution.

  This time they decided to stay home, disenchanted from their last venture. Florida had a lot to offer, and they opted to stay in state rather than journey abroad. Despite being been born and raised in the Sunshine State, Amber had never visited such destinations as the Kennedy Space Center or Disney World. There was much Brad had yet to experience as well, having moved from Michigan for college.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she said. The length of the cay ran about twenty-five feet, with a fifteen-foot width. There was no vegetation, just a blanket of sand peeking up from the ocean.

  Brad agreed with his girlfriend’s assessment. It was gorgeous, though it paled in comparison to Amber’s natural beauty. She stripped off her lifejacket and tossed it beside the kayaks. “Gimme a hand,” he said.

  Amber clapped. “Bravo, Mister Miller.”

  “I’m serious,” he said. “On the count of three, tip it upside-down.” After casting aside his own life preserver, he crouched by the kayak. “Remember to lift with your legs. One. Two. Three.” They picked up the craft on both ends and rolled it with ease.

  “The other one too?” she asked.

  “Lemme grab something first.” He rummaged in the footwell of his kayak, produced a picnic basket and a blanket. “Ta-da,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Dinner.”

  Amber flashed a coy smile. “You sneaky devil.” He had smuggled the contraband when she hadn’t been paying attention. “I’m so glad we had this opportunity.”

  “Me too.” They almost had to abandon their plans. Both of them held full-time jobs, and while the school-free summer months afforded more leisure time, it was still a chore to juggle their separate work schedules. Amber originally had to work, but Brad persuaded her to trade shifts with a co-worker at the restaurant.

  They moved to the second kayak. She counted, “One, two, three.” It went over smooth like the first.

  “Let’s get this set up.” Daylight was fading, as was the island. He grabbed the basket and spread about a red blanket before laying out turkey sandwiches, grapes and a warm bottle of Merlot.

  His girlfriend seemed preoccupied. “What do you think we should name it?” she asked.

  “Name what?”

  “This place. We discovered it, so we reserve the right to name it like any other explorers.” He sat on the cover and motioned for her to join him. When she did, he draped his arm over her shoulders and thought about the answer. Marathon Key was glimpsed a quarter-mile in the distance. They faced away from land though, as they didn’t want any reminders of civilization.

  “How ‘bout the Isle of Ambergris, in your honor?”

  “I love it,” she said. “I claim this land in my name. It sounds so regal.”

  “It’s also the main ingredient in fine perfume.” Brad neglected to mention the product was derived from the intestinal secretions of sperm whales, a reference that would’ve spoiled the mood.

  Brad and Amber snacked on sandwiches and handfed each other green grapes. (Amber hated the purple ones, and while he tried to explain there was no difference between the two, she was adamant they were sourer than the green.) Afterward they popped open the wine and took turns drinking from the bottle. The Merlot wasn’t chilled but still tasted good.

  “Wish I’d brought more,” he admitted. “Cups at the very least.”

  “No worries,” she said and took another sip. She was already a bit buzzed. Holding her liquor wasn’t one of Amber’s strong suits, another quirk that made Brad love her more. “It doesn’t need to be lavish. You know I’m not that kinda girl.” Amber would rather wear hiking boots than high heels. “Being together makes it special. The food, the island, all this is a bonus.”

  “I want you to feel like a princess.”

  “Why should I settle for that when I’m already a queen? Queen of Ambergris.”

  “Here-here, your Majesty.” He stood and said, “I’ll get this stuff packed away.”

  “I can help.”

  “No, I got it.” He collected the remnants of dinner and tucked their trash in the basket.

  “I’ll go take a dip then. Call me when you’re done.”

  Amber trekked out to the water. It felt good, especially in the baking heat. Four feet off the isle’s edge and already wet to her slender hips, she took a dive. When she came up for air, she was out far enough that her feet didn’t touch the sandy bottom.

  She did the breaststroke for a while and later switched to the sidestroke before her right calf muscle seized up in a cramp. Treading water, she massaged her leg with one hand. Once she worked out the knot, she looked up and saw . . .

  What was it?

  Something several yards away glinted like a half-dollar in the sun. A second later it was obscured in the trough of two waves. Amber bobbed around to find it again, but it was gone. She stayed a minute longer before feeling violated. There was something in her space, and she didn’t want to share with anything else. Probably nothing more than a floating beer bottle. The Florida Keys had gotten more polluted in the last decade, despite a push for conservation by environmentalists.

  She swam back to an area where she could stand and walked to shore.

  That’s when something touched her leg.

  She almost yelled since she thought it was a fish or stingray. It clung to her knee though, so she reached under the water and pulled it away. A piece of harmless seaweed dripped in her hand. Amber hurled the vegetation into the sea and emerged on the beach. The sand here was wet enough to leave the footprints of her sandals. The young woman never traveled in the ocean without her flip-flops, a lesson learned after she sliced open the sole of her right foot on a piece of jagged coral as a teen.

  “How goes it?” she asked her boyfriend. Brad sat on the sand with his back to her.

  “Pretty well now that you’re here.”

  She moved to sit on the picnic blanket. Brad patted the ground next to him. “Come here,” he said. He handed her a blue towel to dry herself.

  “Did you see that?” she asked, taking her place beside him.

  “Your magnificent breasts?”

  “No, you horndog, that thing out there.”

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  “It was . . . a shimmer,” Amber sai
d. She didn’t know how else to describe it. “Like a dark shimmer.”

  “Could’ve been anything, more than likely your overactive imagination.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’m sure it was a mirage.” Amber picked up on Brad’s distracted attitude. There was something off; he’d been acting weird all afternoon. She didn’t say anything, afraid to upset him. Amber stared into the water, gentle waves lapping a couple feet away. “I thought we were heading out?” she said.

  “Don’t you wanna see the sun set? That was the reason I wanted us to come out here.” His heart beat hard in his chest, hands shaking so badly he dug them into the sand so she wouldn’t notice.

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard today.” She snuggled next to him and kissed his cheek.

  They were good for each other, an air of competition between them that stemmed from sexual attraction. One tried to top the other for bragging rights, whether in athletics or academics, though their energies were best spent working together. They kept one another honest, which was of utmost importance since both sought careers in law.

  He swept back a stray strand of dark hair (its dampness belied her natural blond roots) and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I love you.”

  “Love you too,” she said.

  They sat silent for fifteen minutes as they watched the sun sink beneath the horizon. The sky went from dusky orange to a rich pink, casting the region in soft pastel colors. It was hard for Amber to believe the sun was a second-rate star ninety-three million miles away. It seemed so close she could pluck it from the heavens as she would a grapefruit from a citrus tree.

  While they hadn’t moved at all, the water now licked their toes. The Isle of Ambergris would be gone by midnight, only to reappear again around noon. The cay had been reduced by half its size since they landed. Brad noticed his girlfriend had her towel wrapped tight to fend off the encroaching breeze. Goosebumps covered her upper arms. “I wish we had the blanket,” he said.

  “It’s around here somewhere. I’ll grab it.” She left him to find the coverlet. He’d sprawled it out in the middle of the sand, leaving her to gather it alone. The young man was nervous enough to vomit.