Leviathan

by Jared Sandman

  The Simon skirted under the lowest edge, then Kelly motored about in a tight circle to face the Leviathan. The submersible hovered as the creature rushed the researchers. They had one shot, so they needed to get it right. “Now,” Kelly said. She revved the thrusters and the sub shot straight at the creature, the refitted harpoon on the prow pointed directly at the Leviathan.

  Seconds before the spear impaled the crocodile, the creature deviated course and sailed over the Simon —

  — right into the trawling net.

  The Leviathan slammed into the net, tearing at it with claws and teeth. The harder it tried to free itself, the more it became ensnared in a cocoon of wirework.

  Four hundred feet above, the Aurora felt the beast’s mighty rage as the vessel pitched to starboard.

  The creature put up a respectable fight even with slowed reflexes and the tranquilizers in its system. It struggled for half an hour until it was finally immobilized. The scientists watched from the mini-sub, taking pictures and congratulating each other. They breached the surface once they were convinced the Leviathan couldn’t escape their trap.

  The Simon broke the waves into glorious sunlight. Kelly opened the hatch, relished the cool breeze on her face. From the Aurora’s main deck, several interns cheered and waved at her.

  A minute later Bart’s grizzled face appeared at the bulwark, a bullhorn in one hand. “WHAT’S THE VERDICT?”

  She gave him a thumbs-up and shouted, “We got it.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  HAVING CAPTURED THE Leviathan, the Aurora’s crew was faced with the logistical dilemma of getting the creature aboard the vessel. Kelly needed the animal on deck so she could perform the necessary surgery to implant a tracking device. She steered the beaten Simon to the stern and climbed up to the Aurora with Captain Bart’s help.

  After a round of celebrations with her shipmates, the marine biologist formulated a scheme to hoist the beast onto the ship. Neither she nor Evan worried about the creature drowning, as both were sure it could survive a significant duration without fresh air. She hypothesized the Leviathan’s bulbous snout was a storage area for breath or a resonance chamber to communicate. Still they acted with urgency to get the crocodile out of the water.

  From a cargo compartment in the forecastle, Kelly had several interns retrieve a spherical steel cage. She next instructed Bart to wind the trawling net to the surface, careful to bring the beast with it. The engines worked at full capacity to draw up the creature. The screech of grinding gears and stench of burning oil wafted from the bilge.

  When Kelly returned from her berth, she was outfitted in a wet suit. In one hand she carried an inflatable scuba vest, and in the other she lugged a forty-pound dive tank. Upon seeing the equipment, both Evan and the captain tried to talk her out of getting in the water.

  “It has to be me,” she explained. “It’s dangerous, I know. I wouldn’t risk putting anyone else in this situation.”

  “You can’t go by yourself,” Evan said.

  “Can and will.” The ranger was frustrated by Kelly’s habit of disregarding others’ opinions. Kelly motioned at the cage that had been rolled onto the observation deck. “There’s enough room in there for one person — me.”

  Squeals from the rusty chains rose to a crescendo as the creature came into view. The Aurora listed more sharply, and the cage tipped toward starboard before Rafe stopped it. Bart had fastened a clip to the top of the cage, which extended across an overhead T-bar and ensured the enclosure wouldn’t sink to the depths.

  “What will you do once you’re down there?” Evan asked her.

  She slipped her buoyancy-control vest onto the scuba tank and locked it tight. Evan picked up the heavy apparatus, rested it on a bent knee as Kelly struggled into it. Once she snapped the lapbelt together, the weight of the equipment hung entirely on her shoulders. “I need to position the guide wires underneath the specimen so we can securely lift it onto deck.”

  Bart said, “And that’s automatically your job, no questions asked?”

  “No questions asked.”

  Evan checked her regulator, made sure none of the air hoses were tangled and all the buckles were snug. He twisted open the main valve to her air tank and tested to see whether her vest inflated and deflated properly. This was a routine inspection every diver initiated before getting in the water. Safety was of paramount importance to Evan Hale, and he tried to ignore the fact Kelly was about to break the first rule of diving: never go alone. Because she was going solo, it was more imperative her gear worked.

  She read the concern on his face, tried to allay his fears. “I won’t be down deep, twenty or thirty feet at most. Just enough to harness the cables around it.”

  “Stay away from its mouth.”

  “Trust me, I’m well aware. I have no intention of getting anywhere near the head.”

  Commotion erupted from starboard as the interns flocked to see the creature. Their jubilation and astonishment made Kelly smile.

  She walked to the edge of the stabilizer platform to put on her swimming fins and mask, the latter of which had been coated inside with toothpaste and rinsed so it wouldn’t fog up underwater. “Any advice?” she asked Evan.

  The ranger considered Kelly Andrews a beautiful dichotomy, a vulnerable woman who had the strength to work through her weaknesses. He almost kissed her then, held back the urge.

  Instead he said, “Try and get it on its back. Crocs put up a fierce front, but if flipped upside-down they’re helpless. All the blood drains from their brain, causing the animal to enter a trancelike state. But only temporarily.”

  She stepped inside the steel cage. Bart closed the door behind her as she stuffed the regulator in her mouth. “And watch out for the tail,” Evan said.

  Bart tossed two steel cords over the T-bar and handed one to her, throwing the other into the water. Then Rafe used the Yumbo crane to lift the cage and place it in the ocean.

  The marine biologist breathed deep as she slipped under the water, the soft whoosh of inhalation magnified in her ears. She took a moment to clear her sinuses, equalize the pressure in her ears by blowing her nose gently, a simple way to protect her eardrums from rupture.

  There was enough room in the cage to move about freely, and she was able to push through the water with minimal exertion. The crane to which it was hooked kept her from wandering off course. Its spherical shape was better suited than the conventional metal box because predators had more difficulty biting a round surface. The cage itself deflected the attacks when she went swimming with sharks or barracuda.

  Kelly had been dropped to the Leviathan’s rear. Taking the large cord, she transported the cage to the tip of the creature’s tail and looped it through like a slipknot. She worked the cord up to meatier regions, getting caught for a moment on one of the hind legs before moving all the way to mid-thorax.

  Paralyzed in the trawl net, the crocodile couldn’t resist Kelly’s advances. She heard a distinct sound from the beast, a low rumble. The marine biologist reached out to touch the creature for the first time, rested a hand on its belly to feel the vibrations. The noise was exaggerated in the water and sounded to her like a pack of idling motorcycles.

  She proceeded with the other cable, hooking it superior to the back legs. Still wrapped in the net, the creature would now have its weight balanced when taken out of the water. Kelly filled her BC with air and resurfaced in the cage, signaling to the Aurora with a plastic whistle. Upon hearing that piercing sound, Rafe activated the crane to reel her back to the ship.

  Evan helped Kelly out of the enclosure, assisted her in rigging the cords to the Yumbo winch. Once the creature was clear of the saltwater’s buoyancy, the crane would support its tonnage.

  Before getting it aboard the vessel, the researchers had to be certain it posed no danger to the crew. While it was impossible to defend against all risk, one major undertaking remained.

  On the edge of the deck Kelly noticed Edgar Wallis, camcorder in ha
nd as he recorded every step (or misstep) made by the scientists.

  The marine biologist stared at the beast’s unsecured jaws. “What do you recommend?” she asked Evan.

  “A croc’s biting power is in closing. The muscles needed to open its mouth are weak by comparison. I’ve seen wranglers close a gator’s snout with one hand, use the other to wrap it shut with duct tape.” He mimed the action himself. “Keep in mind there are two types of gator wrestlers: those who have been bitten, and those who will be bitten.”

  “There’s a comforting thought.”

  “That’s why I’m taking control.” Evan let her do a hazardous thing by getting in the cage alone, and now it was his turn to be foolhardy. “I have more experience in this.”

  “Be my guest,” she said.

  Evan expected her to fight him and was shocked when she so readily acquiesced. He handed her a dart gun and said, “Be ready to administer another dosage of tranquilizer.”

  “With what’s already in its bloodstream, I don’t know what a reasonable amount is. We don’t want to kill it by accidental overdose. That’d make us no better than Wright.”

  “That’s exactly what we’ll have to do if anything goes wrong.” Evan walked to a pile of extra chain, selected a piece twenty feet long. “This should do.” He attached a carabineer to one end then threaded it through itself to create a crude lasso.

  The ranger leaned over the starboard rail and tossed the lariat at the creature’s snout. He missed.

  He pulled the chain back and tried again. Another miss.

  Evan coiled the chain a third time, threw once more. On this swing it caught the tip of the croc’s nose and slid down the snout. The creature shifted in the net, and Evan feared the metal lasso might slip uselessly down its jaws. The cable stayed centered, however, and he yanked the line taut. He looped it thrice around the muzzle before he felt comfortable it could keep the Leviathan’s mouth closed.

  The Yumbo crane restrained the creature from moving too much as it was lifted onto the observation deck. “Everyone stand back,” Kelly shouted. She had the rifle pressed against her shoulder, its scope set on the animal’s soft underbelly.

  The creature spied Kelly as she tentatively approached. They stared at one another for a long moment, and the marine biologist imagined what was going through its mind, whether it was capable of rational thought at all. She took another step before the beast lashed out at her.

  The Leviathan went wild in the net, four legs scrambling on the wet deck as it tried to gain purchase on its lengthy talons. The animal made an effort to return to the sea, its escape route blocked by the stabilizer platform that had been locked in the upright position. It tried to climb the sidewall when Rafe used the crane to tug it backward. Kelly skittered across deck as the animal fell supine, tail and head thrashing violently.

  Then it lay still for a moment. Kelly thought it might’ve been injured, perhaps even killed.

  “It blacked out when it flipped over,” Evan explained. “Quick, tag it.”

  Before the crocodile had an opportunity to regain consciousness, the marine biologist took aim and fired.

  A large tranquilizer pierced where the scales weren’t bony osteoderms and the skin was pliable. The dart sank into its flesh and administered the sedative. The creature’s movements eventually slowed from the additional dosage, even after it reawakened. Finally it rested, calm and unflinching.

  Edgar Wallis videotaped the entire episode on his videocamera. No one would be able to refute this conclusive evidence. Kelly walked over to the lawyer and spoke directly into the camera. “This is Kelly Andrews aboard the Aurora.” She gave the time and date before saying, “Feast your eyes on that, Lucas.”

  The marine biologist motioned for Edgar to stop filming then told him, “Give Rafe the camera. You’re relieved of duties.” He started to protest when she added, “I need you to draft an airtight contract, petition, anything in the legal spectrum that can help protect this species.”

  Edgar didn’t object to the request. The beast had struck the attorney with a sense of awe; he wanted to see it unmolested by civilization too. He handed the camera to the Jamaican and retired to his berth to draft up the paperwork.

  “The red button records,” she told Rafe. “And make sure to tape us from several angles. The Board of Trustees will want to see everything.” She pointed to several interns huddled by the pilothouse. “You there, grab as many bolt cutters as you can find.”

  Five minutes later the interns returned with four pairs. Kelly picked two and Evan took the rest.

  “Cut carefully,” Kelly said to the ranger. She couldn’t stress that enough. “Get it free from the net but not the chains.” The creature appeared asleep, but Kelly had been fooled before. Its inner eyelid was closed and the outer one wasn’t, so she had to be alert in case it was faking again. “Use extreme caution and stay away from the head.”

  The bolt cutters sliced quickly through the net, most of which had been shredded in many places already. If they’d taken much longer to get the creature out of the water, it may have fled the trap. Within fifteen minutes they had freed the creature from the harness. Still chained in the shackles, it was safe. Had to be. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking the Leviathan was like a vicious pit bull leashed by a rubber band.

  “Everybody clear the deck,” she called to the interns. Evan herded the others inside the ship’s superstructure. Soon the weather deck was empty of everyone except herself, Evan and the mechanic. The marine biologist motioned to the cage and gave instructions to Evan. “Put that in storage, then hook the crane to the Simon and bring it up. We don’t want the sub floating off.”

  The ranger hated to point out the fault in her plan. He gestured to the Yumbo crane, currently connected to the creature. They’d have to release it temporarily to retrieve the submersible. Evan unclipped the chains and attached the other end of the winch to the Simon. Kelly thought that would be a two-person job, but Evan handled it himself. He raised the submersible from the water, placed it on the deck’s free space. The marine biologist stood guard to make sure the beast didn’t stir during this time.

  Once the Leviathan was safely re-tethered to the crane, Kelly went to her sleeping quarters to change out of her wetsuit. While there she recovered an audiotape recorder then returned to the observation deck to begin her initial assessment of the animal.

  By now the giant crocodile was at ease, resting on its back with mouth fastened. She turned on the recorder and spoke with the tone of an objective scientist. “Kelly Andrews speaking on behalf of the Siesta Key Research Institute. We are presently aboard the Aurora. Earlier today we caught a specimen of unknown origin. Check against all records for species found in the Atlantic. It clearly belongs to the crocodilian family. Special thanks go to Mister Evan Hale of the Florida Park Service, who was instrumental in capturing the sample.”

  Kelly clicked off the recorder. “Get me a tape measure. There should be one in the wheelhouse. Then fetch the tracking device from the lab. It’s in the righthand desk drawer, a black capsule about four inches long. I’ll also need a scalpel, suture thread and a surgical needle. Those things are all in the laboratory; ask an intern if you can’t find them.”

  The ranger collected the items while the marine biologist continued her science log. Kelly touched the Leviathan’s belly, timid at first to gauge its reaction. The animal didn’t flinch, deep in a hypnagogic state. Convinced the creature wouldn’t strike at her, she rubbed its right lateral side with her other hand. The underside was pale and speckled, and its texture reminded her of stroking a keyboard. The scales there were thinner and didn’t overlap. The skin’s pebbling was extensive too and felt like a wet football hide.

  Kelly Andrews remained entranced by the Leviathan until Evan returned with provisions. Using the tape measure, they went to either end of the creature. Kelly measured to the tip of its tail, curved in a U-shape. Evan kept away from its skull, estimated the last several feet. “Add about s
ix,” he called across the deck.

  Into the recorder Kelly documented its length. “Approximately forty-two feet long.” She double-checked to verify that because she had trouble believing the number.

  “How long?” Bart asked over the intercom. He’d watched the entire spectacle from the bridge and had the best view overhead.

  “Over forty feet,” she yelled back.

  “That’s one big sumbitch.”

  “Did you jot down its weight?” she called to the captain. No answer, so she asked again. The Yumbo crane came with a scale, and she hoped Bart had noted the load as it was being lifted out of the water.

  “Roger that. The winch maxed out.” It had a maximum weight of eight tons. Kelly was disappointed until he added, “I also got the weight when it was in the water, just north of two tons.”

  With that information Kelly reasoned a rough estimate of its mass. She figured the Leviathan’s heft to be around twenty thousand pounds. She entered that into the recorder and shut off the machine. “Scalpel,” she said to Evan, her palm open.

  He handed her the implement, stepped back to watch. Kelly knelt next to the creature and thought about the best place to make the first incision. Surgery required as much finesse as it took knowledge and skill. The tracking device had to be planted someplace where the creature wouldn’t notice or be able to reach it. She decided on a spot along its flank, about six feet posterior to the left forearm.

  When she went to make the initial cut, Evan stopped her. He wrestled the knife from her hand. “Sorry, this is my surgery.”

  She turned on him, rage splashed across her features. “What? Why?”

  His finger touched the area on which she was about to operate. “How well acquainted are you with reptile physiology?”

  “You don’t trust my judgment?”

  “Sure, if this were a shark or fish. It’s obvious you don’t know as much about crocodilian anatomy.”

  The ranger’s comment pissed her off because he was both patronizing . . . and he was right. She wasn’t as familiar with crocodiles as other aquatic creatures. Perhaps it was best to step aside, at least for the moment.