Leviathan

by Jared Sandman

  Kelly Andrews watched the old man from a nearby stairwell. She kept out of sight, waiting for the best moment to confront the billionaire. She and Wright had much to discuss.

  “According to the Talmud, one day all of humanity will feast on your flesh, gathered together under a tent made from your hide. What the text fails to mention is that I’m the one who skins you.” He stroked the creature with a palsied hand. “Do you have any idea how much time, effort and money I spent to find you? Millions of dollars, hundreds of tips that led nowhere. But here you are. And that’s what interests me. Why here? Why now? The end of days must truly be nigh for you to have been driven up from the depths.” He shook a clenched fist at the sky. “Your pet is mine now, Lord. You’re not getting it back.”

  “Don’t you know talking to yourself is rude?” Kelly said. She stepped into view, the Luger pointed at the old man.

  Wright turned, bewildered. “Oh, but I’m not. It doesn’t surprise me you believe that. You scientists, too damn smart for your own good. So wrapped up in the details of the universe that you fail to see the big picture, the Creator at work.”

  “Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged you a religious man.”

  “Why, because money’s the root of all evil? I didn’t used to be rich. And I didn’t always believe in God. My wife introduced me to religion. See, that’s the difference between us. I’m a man of conviction; I have faith in something greater than myself.” He swept a hand to the slumbering reptile. “And that proves I’m right. Behold the Leviathan.”

  Kelly’s gun didn’t waver, trained directly on Wright’s forehead. He wasn’t intimidated by the weapon, even took a step toward her.

  “You’re wrong,” said the marine biologist. “This is a regular animal, same as any other in the world. I also can’t look at it without feeling that sense of wonder, a twinge of the mystic.” Wright took another step forward, and she countered with a step back. “I remember having those emotions the first time I visited a zoo. I saw the gorillas and elephants and giraffes, all those foreign creatures I’d never come across before. And I realized they had been caged, denied their freedom. This creature won’t share that fate.”

  “I don’t mean to display it in a pen or a tank.”

  “All the same, you want to deny its right to exist. Your Leviathan has a name, a scientific name. Sarchosuchus imperator it’s called, also known as a SuperCroc. It’s a forgotten dinosaur, an evolutionary throwback. It has nothing to do with the end of the world or fire and brimstone.”

  Wright stopped in his tracks, hands neatly clasped behind his back and feet together as if at military attention. “I asked you a question the other night, about whether or not you have children. You avoided answering me then. Care to quench my curiosity?”

  “I won’t be baited into some sanctimonious — ”

  “You’d make a good mother,” Wright said. The statement gave Kelly pause, as she didn’t expect a compliment from the old man. “I see your empathy for this creature. That mothering instinct overpowers all else. My wife Brenda had the same look every time she spoke about our son when she was pregnant. It’s too bad she only met Joseph once.”

  “What happened?”

  “She bled out,” Wright said. “A freak occurrence nowadays, thirteen in every ten thousand births. She held him for about a minute before being whisked away to the O.R. where she died.”

  “When was this?”

  “Over three decades ago.”

  “Why didn’t you take your son on a normal fishing trip instead?”

  “Because he’s been dead for more than twenty years.” Kelly Andrews glimpsed the vortex of sorrow that was Oscar Wright, mourning shaped like a man. “He was born with Brittle Bone Syndrome. Seeing him suffer through life was far more painful than watching Brenda die. Do you have any idea what it’s like never to hug your son because the merest pressure of an embrace could crack his ribs?”

  “I can’t pretend to understand what you’ve gone through. Destroying this beautiful animal isn’t the healthy way to grieve. Your loved ones died and you’re looking for something, anything to blame. This crocodile had nothing to do with their deaths.”

  “Of course it didn’t,” Wright snapped. “I’m not an invalid. This monster didn’t kill my family.”

  “And neither did God.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because I have beliefs too. I trust there’s nothing beyond our mortal coil. We each get one ride, and when it’s over we rot in the ground. End of story, requiescat in pace.”

  The old man’s head hung in shame, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “If there’s nothing else responsible, that leaves me. It’s my fault.”

  Kelly’s arm dropped to her side. “No, it isn’t. Some part of you has to know that. What happened to you was” — she struggled for the right word to ease his troubled conscience — “unfortunate.”

  “Unfortunate?” he said. The sadness drained out of his eyes, superseded by their trademark coldness. “Unfortunate is when you accidentally break your grandmother’s favorite heirloom. Unfortunate is when your dog runs away. Unfortunate is when your girlfriend dumps you for your best friend. What happened to me was unforgivable. Malicious, pure and simple.”

  “Who aren’t you willing to forgive?” she asked. The answer was obvious to her, less apparent to the man himself.

  “I did nothing but praise His name. And when I needed Him most, my prayers fell on deaf ears.”

  “Everyone has felt that at some point. We’ve all experienced loss, gut-wrenching heartbreak that shakes us to our very foundations. Difference is, the rest of us can’t afford to fund an expensive warpath. Leave the Leviathan alone.”

  Wright pointed an accusatory finger and said, “Your hypocrisy sickens me. You’re no better than I am.”

  The Luger targeted the billionaire again. Wright stopped his advances but not his charges. “You act like you want to save the creature. But how long can you keep it secret? The minute people learn it exists, you’ve placed the thing in danger. They won’t stop searching for it, spreading stories about it. You’ve discovered the next Bigfoot, another Loch Ness Monster. The Leviathan will amass a cult following bent on capturing it. And you can’t protect it forever.” He took a hesitant step forward. Now fewer than six feet separated them. The gun was still directed at the old man’s broken heart. “Surely that must’ve occurred to you. You’re a smart girl.”

  “I’m a smart woman.”

  “Yeah, yay for feminism. You’ve come a long way, baby. Well, I’m pretty goddamned smart too. I know your game: study the creature for now. When word inevitably gets out, you’ll have to retrieve it to defend it against humanity. Either way, its freedom is cut short. Eventually you’ll be forced to house it in an aquarium or habitat. Then you’ll convince yourself it ought to be shared with the world, so you start charging, what, fifteen or twenty bucks apiece to see the animal. Less for the kiddies, of course. And pretty soon it’s devolved into another freakshow attraction, like a two-headed horse or Dargo the Goat-Faced Boy.”

  “That’s not true,” the scientist said.

  “Oh, but it is. Once you start down that path, it’s the only way the story can end. And one day ten or twenty years from now the creature will wind up dead. Then your science colleagues from around the globe will vie for the chance to help dissect the animal before it’s stuffed and mounted in whichever natural history museum offered the highest bid. It all comes down to money. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned from my years in business, it’s that everything ultimately comes down to money.”

  Wright took another step toward her. Now he was close enough to swipe the barrel with his hand if he reached out.

  Kelly wasn’t about to listen to his lies. She wouldn’t be swayed by his corporate doublespeak. She had the gun; she had the power.

  “Are you really going to shoot me?” he asked.

  She cocked the hammer in response.

  “Like how you sh
ot my friend?” She glanced down at the bloodstained Miami Dolphins ballcap that lay between them. She hadn’t forgotten about what he did to Bart. No matter how lamentable Wright’s life had been, it did not excuse his violent actions.

  “Taking vengeance on me would only make us kindred souls. And I know you think yourself better than me.”

  “Damn straight,” Kelly said. “I just wanna injure you a bit. Don’t think for a second I wouldn’t do it. Your sob story’s regrettable, but it’s yours alone.”

  The old man’s eyes flickered from her for an instant, long enough for Kelly to realize something was amiss. Then she felt cold metal against her throat as a hairy forearm snaked around her neck.

  “Sneaky little bitch,” Ian Thorpe whispered. “Didn’t see you slip away in all the commotion. But I’ve been watching you from the bridge this whole time.”

  The knife had a six-inch double blade, serrated on one side to cut through rope. It was that edge currently pressed to her throat. She was afraid to even breathe, for fear of drawing blood.

  The marine biologist kept the gun aimed at Oscar Wright.

  “Think you can slit my throat faster than I can pull the trigger?” she rasped.

  “Do you?” The hunter’s hot breath blew against her hair, and she smelled the nicotine on it. No doubt from a celebratory cigar taken from Captain Bart’s private stash in the wheelhouse.

  Kelly couldn’t stay focused. Her thoughts wandered to the worst-case scenario. Thorpe slicing through her jugular . . . a red spray pulsing from her neck . . . dropping to her knees . . . keeling over into a growing puddle . . . light dimming from her vision as her brain became starved of oxygen . . . the hunter and billionaire kicking her warm corpse off the edge of the Aurora . . . then fish coming from miles around to feast on her body . . .

  “Drop the gun and I’ll have my associate step away,” Wright said.

  Kelly instinctively released the weapon from her grip. It dropped to the deck, and she prayed it might discharge and shoot the old man anyway. No such luck. The marine biologist was in survival mode, willing to do anything to avert the perverse tragedy playing out in her mind.

  The billionaire picked up the firearm and said, “Good girl.” Thorpe withdrew the blade and joined Wright. “You’ve proven yourself troublesome, Miss Andrews. I’ve humored you thus far. No more.” He tucked the gun in his waistband. “When an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, you wind up with a stalemate. Unfortunately since you won’t move aside on your own, I’ll have to give you a push. Mister Thorpe, please.”

  The hunter advanced on her, looming over the woman. His arms surrounded her like a vise and lifted her into the air. She yelled and beat at his chest with her fists. When she looked to the old man, Wright had a lifejacket in his hands.

  “No-no-no, you fucking bastard. I’ll hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Save your strength.” He tossed the life vest far onto the water. “Florida’s three hundred miles that way.”

  She fought against the hunter, kicking and screaming as he dragged her to the gunwale. He wrestled her legs over the rail, Kelly’s feet dangling two stories above the churning blackness of the Atlantic Ocean. “You won’t get away with this,” she shrieked. “I hope your God smites you, turns your ass into a pillar of salt. Choke on your tongue and burn in hell.”

  With a powerful push, the hunter sent Kelly Andrews overboard.

  The last thing she heard was Wright taunting her as she fell. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “See how long it takes you to find my God out here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE OCEAN RUSHED at Kelly with terrifying speed. She dropped from the Aurora, swearing at Wright as she tumbled all the way down. An instant before hitting the water, she took a deep breath and tucked her arms across her chest. The surface temperature was seventy-four degrees. At the height of hurricane season the Atlantic basin averaged eighty-eight degrees. Kelly braced herself for the water, but it was the cold that surprised her. Clad only in a t-shirt and shorts, she needed to conserve body heat.

  The marine biologist spent much time on the seas, going back to her childhood. It was ingrained that the oceans were to be respected and preserved; there was no real need to fear the deep.

  For the first time, Kelly Andrews was afraid of the water.

  She fought and kicked toward the surface. The pressure in her ears pinched painfully, and she had no idea how far under she’d sank. At least a good twenty feet.

  Her limbs splayed out and grasped at nothingness. Push . . . push . . . push. Her lungs were lead weights, out of air now. She exhaled slowly, a trail of bubbles following her to the surface.

  Kelly broke the waves, coughing and sputtering as she treaded water. She came up ten yards from the Aurora. The vessel’s long shadow spilled over her as the sun descended to the horizon. She scanned starboard expecting to see Thorpe or Wright watching her. There was no one. She was alone, an afterthought of the two men.

  Several feet away she spotted the bright orange lifejacket atop the swells. She swam toward it, snagged the floating device by a couple hanging straps. It was unwieldy and awkward to struggle into. She snapped and tightened the buckles while kicking her legs to stay above water.

  The results were satisfactory. Although it rode high on her torso, it was better than nothing. She was actually glad the old man had left it with her, a token kindness overshadowed by his cruelty.

  Soon thereafter — she didn’t know how soon because she wasn’t currently wearing a watch — the ship’s engines started. She felt the reverberations through her lower body and cursed Oscar Wright once more. The son of a bitch was planning to leave her. This wasn’t some bleak joke after all.

  The motors idled for a while, and the marine biologist wisely swam away from the ship rather than toward it. Any vessel as large as the Aurora created a potent undertow, strong enough to drown anyone caught in its wake. Kelly didn’t want to die tonight or anytime soon. There were few deaths worse than being diced into chum by the ship’s enormous propellers.

  After swimming to a safe distance sixty yards from the ship, Kelly was helpless as she watched the Aurora — her Aurora — start on a slow course north. Oscar Wright had commandeered her vessel; moreover, he’d seized the Leviathan for himself, both unpardonable sins.

  Not to mention leaving her for dead.

  Except that wasn’t going to happen. She needed to quell that negativity before it burrowed in her brain and consumed her thoughts.

  Kelly was defenseless against the elements and had no recourse than to watch Wright sail away. The Aurora, one hundred and sixty feet long from bow to stern, became the size of a toy boat as it sped toward the horizon. She saw it grow ever smaller before eventually disappearing altogether.

  Once it was truly gone, a strange void grew inside her. She had believed at any moment the vessel might return to rescue her. Only after it vanished was she aware that would never happen.

  Kelly started shaking uncontrollably, and not from the chill in the water. She hyperventilated as she suffered a panic attack, gasping for large breaths of air. She allowed herself a moment of weakness, only one. The marine biologist needed to be strong if she was going to survive.

  No, not if.

  She needed to be strong because she was going to survive.

  The last bit of direct sunlight faded as the final sliver of sun set. The moment it vanished entirely, she witnessed the fabled green flash, the emerald spark that supposedly brought sailors good luck. The scientist was desperate for any such fortune.

  Daylight dimming by the minute, darkness enveloped her in an unwanted embrace. Nighttime unlocked the mental Pandora’s Box in her head. She imagined the various ways she could die: exposure, hypothermia, dehydration, drowning and (worst of all) being eaten alive.

  The moon was low in the sky, beginning its nightly trek across the heavens. The waxing crescent wasn’t as reassuring as a full moon yet more comforti
ng than pitch darkness. She used the North Star to orient herself. Florida would be to her left, the direction where Wright had indicated. At least he hadn’t tried to send her off course.

  She decided it was best to stay put than swim anywhere. That was the recommendation most survival experts gave. Rather than risk getting more lost while trying to find civilization, it was smart to remain in one spot and await rescue. Kelly hated to admit that advice didn’t apply here since waves and currents would cause her to drift miles from a fixed location.

  Kelly hoped she’d been stranded in a shipping channel. If so, sometime in the next twenty-four hours a passing cargo vessel might spot her bobbing on the water. The notion was so vivid in her mind: the boat, the sound of its motor, even the stenciling on the hull. All she had to do was last one day and she’d be saved.

  Yet in the back of her head . . .

  No, she pushed that away.

  Those dark thoughts refused to be locked away. She pictured hungry sharks and giant squid, all the ocean’s predators swimming beneath her, circling with empty bellies waiting to be filled. Any second she expected something to brush against her legs or nip at her hands.

  The seasoned marine biologist knew there was little to fear. However her extensive education taught that the seas teemed with life after dark, when nocturnal creatures from the deep came to shallower waters to feed.

  She refused to indulge wild thoughts any longer. She visualized them as a pack of feral cats and herded them into the basement of her mind. No longer would she allow them to roam free.

  Still, Kelly had to wonder . . .

  * * * * *

  Evan Hale didn’t bother changing into a new outfit, his pants and shirt stained with the late captain’s blood. As the dead man’s body cooled on deck, Evan instructed Rafe to cover the corpse and say a few words. He didn’t know whether Bart had been religious in life, but he guessed everyone was bound to be devout in death.