by T S Paul
Henry Sloan shook his head. “Was Hattie part of the Rider family?”
“It’s up for debate, but she might have been. I went to school with a bunch of those kids. I know for a fact several went to war and never returned here.” Melvin Hook replied as he stood behind the counter. Thinking for a moment he explained, “There was a lighthouse on the point, Agent Dalton. It fell into the sea in the mid-1920s. I’m not sure of the exact date on that one. The Rider’s were the family that ran the place. At times they used their house as an ad hoc hotel or hostel during storms. If I remember correctly, they had twenty kids out there.”
“That actually makes a bit of sense now. If Hattie were raised there, she would know how to survive. The Rider’s lived off the land out there,” Chief James remarked.
“Is there anything else out there? Someplace Hattie could store cheese or the thing we’re hunting?” I asked.
“It was starting to be a resort town until the lighthouse was destroyed. Storms took the rest of the buildings after that. I remember these really wide and deep pilings that the structure stood on. Mary and Eber Rider used to use them as root cellars in the summer. That might be what you’re searching for, Agent,” Melvin explained.
Chief James stepped back to the table and sat down. “My guys said they’ve seen a car out there a few times but didn’t see anything else. Do we need to check it out?”
Mayor Watson quickly filled the man in on our findings, and he called his officers back.
“Field trip anyone?” I asked.
The mayor insisted on coming with us for the hunt. Police Chief James called in two more of his officers who showed up in a former military all-terrain-vehicle.
“Haven’t seen one of those in a while. I grew up in Texas, and they had a few down there. Where did you get it?” I asked the Chief.
“The local guard unit. They had two inoperable ones. It cost too much to repair both, so they scrapped them. My guys had some free time and made one from two.” The chief pointed out the many welds and repairs.
I was familiar with the design. Reservation police used them to hunt down runaways and rogues in Texas. It was ironic that I was the one that would do that task in the future.
Since we were taking the ATV, I grabbed the SKS and one of the ammo pouches for it. I didn’t think what we were hunting was supernatural, so I left the crossbow and magic ammo alone.
“What kind of gun is that?” Chief James asked. He was gripping a Thompson in his right hand.
“Samozaryadnyj Karabin Sistemy Simonova or SKS for short. It’s what the Russians designed to kill Demons,” I held the gun out to him.
Handing his gun to one of the deputies, the chief gripped the SKS with both hands. “Light. What’s it use for ammo?”
“7.62X32mm It’s a bit lighter and more accurate than the .45 you use. I picked it for the greater range.” I pointed to the Thompsons they carried. “Those are only accurate to about a hundred and fifty yards or so.”
I took my SKS back from Chief James. “This can hit something at four hundred yards easily.”
“To each his own I guess. Let’s get moving.” The chief pointed me toward the rear seat of the ATV. His officers were going to follow in a pair of beach capable trucks.
The south end of the island was nothing but tracts of houses. Large sections of scrubland were being cleared for future development as well.
“Your town isn’t going to stay small anymore,” I remarked.
“Progress. Can’t stop it. You can only embrace it and hold on. That’s part of why I’m tagging along. This whole area’s the future of Beach Haven. I need to be here,” Mayor Watson explained.
The construction areas gave way to a broken down road behind a tumbled-down gate.
“This whole area was a newly built resort in the 1920s. Storms took the buildings and ocean the rest. Not a surprise that the island came back. Some things are hard to destroy completely,” Mayor Watson pointed out some ruins.
An older model sedan sat just behind a large sand dune. It was sunken halfway up its wheels in the sand.
“There’s her car. She might still be around,” Chief James pointed out.
I slipped a ten round magazine into the SKS. Patting my cargo pockets, I made sure I still had the extra ammo for my pistols. This was not the place to run out. “Where are those foundations they mentioned?”
“If I remember correctly, they’re a hundred yards or so that way. The lighthouse used to be right on the water’s edge and then one day it just fell right over. We’ve got pictures of it in the historical section of the town library. There was a photographer on hand when it happened,” Mayor Watson explained.
“Check the car, we’ll take the dunes. One of you keep an eye on the mayor.” Chief James told his deputies.
A casual glance at the interior of the car showed it was ripped up pretty good. Whatever was once in the rear wasn’t there now.
There was a long row of sand dunes near the edge of the water. I didn’t know much about beaches and such, but it looked like a good sign for the continued existence of this island. A slight path was worn down across two of the smaller dunes. I could see where sea oats and grass was crushed.
Half-buried in the dunes were four round pilings. They were at least ten feet around and open on the top. A rough cut doorway was cut through the concrete on the island side of the closest one.
“Over there.” I pointed.
The hole was covered with an obviously homemade door secured with a large padlock.
“Anyone bring cutters?” Chief James asked.
The officers tried kicking the door, but it was secured too well.
“We could bring the ATV up and pull it off. I think we can attach the chain right here.” Chief James pointed to sections along the edge.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a lockpick kit. “Let me try first.”
For most people simply owning burglary tools meant a trip to the police station. But I was a federal officer, and my charter implied I was to use EVERY tool at my disposal to complete my missions. This was just one of those.
“Fancy.” It was the only comment Chief James made about them as I popped the lock and opened the door.
Smelly. That’s the word I would use to describe the ‘root cellar’ Hattie Peterson was using. Clicking on our flashlights, we started scanning the room. Makeshift shelves with unrecognizable home-canned food stacked on them covered all the interior walls. In the center of the room were wooden crates of store-bought groceries and a large glass bottle. It was the jug that the smell was coming from. More like what was inside the bottle.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before in your life?” Mayor Watson asked me again.
We’d dragged the thing out of the storeroom and set it on the bed of one of the trucks. Exposed to the sunlight, it looked like an alligator bobbing in alcohol. It wasn’t until you looked much closer that you realized it was something more ancient and dangerous.
“Only in a museum,” I replied. My episode in Maine was Top Secret. Washington is pretty dull if you aren’t a politician so one weekend I explored the Smithsonian before my first assignment. Something like this critter was on display in one of the exhibits. But much, much larger. The small creature in the bottle was either a Plesiosaur or a Thalassomedon. Both were bad news if real. If I remember correctly, they could get up to twelve meters long. Dealing with a forty foot dinosaur armed only with semi-automatics was going to get really hairy. What is it with these creatures, anyway? This is the second time this year I’ve seen them.
The three of us leaned on the truck staring at the dead baby sea monster. Somewhere, somehow, Hattie found these things and tried to sell them. It was the only explanation that made any bit of sense. Momma or Daddy followed her back to her house and then to the Todd house.
“Did she kill this thing or did it die of natural causes?” Chief James peered into the jar.
“That we may never know. What we need to find out
is if momma is still around because she’s eaten human flesh now,” I explained.
Mayor Watson paled. “It may still be winter, but we’ve got a fair coming next week.”
“Exactly. So, if we take the lid off the jar…” I trailed off and looked to Chief James.
“You think she’s this close to us?” He asked.
“Not so much us, but the last place she either saw or smelled her baby. If this thing can smell anything. Remember those derelicts said the head was all teeth. But they remembered it had a nose,” I harkened back to the Todd investigation.
Chief James reached over to the jar and started to unscrew the cap.
“Wait!” Mayor Watson exclaimed. “You’re going to do this now? Right here without the military or anything?”
“Johnny, they aren’t going to come here on just my say or even his. Am I right, Agent Dalton?” Chief James pointed at me.
I grimaced but also nodded. The Coast Guard or Navy might come at my request, but I would need more than a baby dinosaur to get them here. It would have to be an active threat to public safety.
“But, but what about safety? I’m not a gun guy, and you only have those rifles,” Mayor Watson protested.
Chief James motioned to his officers, who jumped up into the large truck. Grabbing a wooden box out from under the seat, the two dragged it to the edge and opened it up.
“That is my extra firepower right there,” James pointed.
Peering into the box, I took a full step backward almost instantly. “You had those the whole time over the bumpy roads and everything?”
“Yeah, why? They’re just grenades,” Chief James pointed out.
“Those are Mark Two grenades. They have to be at least thirty years old and unstable. You do know you could have blown us all up, right?” I replied.
“We use them for fishing sometimes. It’s safe.” James looked in the Mayor’s direction to see the man was also horrified by the contents of the box. “Johnny, they’re safe. My boys are in the New Jersey Guard.”
I flipped my vest up exposing my own M26 explosives. “I have my own. Keep those away from me please.”
“Let’s get this show on the road then. Using the butt of his Thomson, Chief James shattered the glass jar. A strong alcohol smell permeated the air along with the smell of rotting flesh. The baby lizard hadn’t been dead very long.
“Take that up to the top of the sand dune over there and expose it to the wind. The rest of us should get into position,” James ordered.
The mayor scrambled back to the ATV and actually crawled under it in fear. It was all I could do to not laugh at his antics. Chief James and his deputy walked to the notch between the two most massive sand dunes and crouched down to wait.
I took a position near the concrete footings. Bits of rotted wood and brick were half buried everywhere all along the water’s edge, but I could see where the monster came ashore before. This was a water creature, not a land dweller, but when it’s young were in danger, all bets were off. Looking up I saw the deputy waving the carcass in the air. I could only shake my head. Here was something incredibly rare and now we were being forced to kill it. If I tried to save it, I ran the risk of alienating an entire town and giving the Bureau and the Director himself the ammunition to shut me down.
Propping my weapon up beside me I ran both hands through my hair in frustration. I was just starting to like these folks, and then they break a bunch of local, state, and federal laws. Police Chief or not, owning grenades was illegal, especially really old ones. The ATU was going to freak when I informed them about this. Using them to fish even broke the new game laws that I was just told about three towns north of here. Idiots.
We sat and waited for several hours in near silence. The deputy up high switched off with his partner but continued to wave the dead animal. Chief James yelled comments toward me from time to time.
“This your first sea monster, Agent Dalton?”
I stood up so I could see the man. “It is. I’ve seen a lot of other strange things though.”
“Like what?” James asked.
“Nothing I can speak about. Has your officer seen anything?” I asked. I really didn’t want to talk to these guys now.
Chief James called out to his man as I scanned the waves in front of me. The way the fading sunlight sparkled off the water and sand demonstrated to me the allure of this place. I never went to the beach as a child. Rivers and ponds yes, but not the sea.
“Peter says he saw movement out there an hour ago. Could’ve been a rogue wave or porpoise. Lots of fish in the sea,” Chief James explained.
“Is he sure of anything?” I was getting a bit testy being out here. If Chief James responded to my question, I never found out. It was at that moment that our monster attacked.
Peter Mayberry had been with Chief James since he was appointed to the position. Waving a dead monster while looking for its momma wasn’t the strangest thing he’d done in the commission of his job. Some things out here are better off left unsaid. He was looking east when the enormous head and neck reached out of the water.
Thalassomedon was a relative of the Plesiosaur, but only a paleontologist would know the difference. Its three-foot long head was filled with dozens of razor-sharp teeth. Teeth that ripped Peter’s arm and most of his shoulder right off his body. In the creature’s proper time it was an apex predator. Top of the food chain.
Peter’s gurgling scream forced my attention away from the chief and toward the now dead man at the top of the dune. The creature was just finishing its second bite of the man when Chief James opened fire on it.
The chief was using his Thompson submachine gun. I’d had a chance to look at his weapon on the way down here. It was an M1 model, meaning that it was one of the ones produced for the military. The cops had made disparaging remarks about my SKS saying it was too long or too bulky to use, but the Thompson had its own problems. Problems that Chief James was just now realizing.
BRRRRAAAAAATTTTT!
Firing from the hip gangster style, the police chief sprayed his gun in the general direction of the monster. The Thompson is really only accurate up to fifty yards, and the creature was farther away than that. It roared, a sound not heard upon land for millennia. Smelling its young on the other deputy, the head and neck thrust straight at him.
The officer ignored the rifle at his feet and pulled out his handgun. Blasting away at the dinosaur he tried to shield the chief as he reloaded.
Chief James dropped the stick magazine and scrambled in his carry case for the drum magazine. It had taken a few months to find one, but he had always wanted a hundred round fire capacity. Ammunition was expensive so this would be the first time he’d ever used it.
“Chief, I need some help here!” The deputy fired all six shots with his revolver and then rolled off the edge of the dune to avoid being bitten. He slid down through the sand, landing next to Chief James.
The chief had pulled out the used stick magazine and was jamming the drum into the hole. Unlike the magazine on my SKS or one for most rifles, there was no catch or clip to hold it in, and only the original Thompsons could use the drum. I should know since I have a specially-refurbished FBI model Thompson in my van. The M1 can’t use them.
“Chief!” The second deputy screamed as a mouth full of teeth clamped down on his leg yanking him off his feet and toward the water's edge.
I stepped around the concrete piling and took aim. Not at the head but at the enormous body that was half in and half out of the water. Aiming carefully I started firing. Each of my magazines held ten rounds, and it was on the fourth shot that I got a rise from the creature. It reared up shaking its head in pain. The roar, similar to the earlier one, was a cry of pain. It broke off its attack on the chief and turned its attention toward me.
Unlike the other men, I had very large obstacles to hide behind as well as the improvised root cellar to duck into if needed.
The aquatic dinosaur was huge! More than forty feet long
with the neck alone more than half that. The body of the beast was resting on the shoreline partially submerged. My shots penetrated the thick skin and hurt it internally. How much was unknown as I ducked and wove to avoid the razor-sharp teeth.
This wasn’t a movie, and I wasn’t an actor. In all the films I’d ever seen the monster would charge after the hero, either killing him or dying a horrible death. This creature didn’t have legs, only flippers, so unless I went into the water, there would be no charging. I just needed to put distance between me and its long neck!
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Chief James drew the creature's attention away from me as he opened fire with his handgun. I ducked behind the nearest concrete piling. The dunes covering the pilings were less than twelve feet from the water’s edge and within range of the creatures head and teeth. Choosing to not be a movie hero, I retreated in the opposite direction. Unlike the Chief, my rifle has a four-hundred meter range.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
I didn’t have to fire all ten rounds this time. The creature let out a roar, and its head and neck slammed into the sand.
“Is it dead?” Chief James asked.
Looking past the bulk of the creature I could see the man standing atop the sand dune, blood running down his body from a shattered right arm. He wouldn’t be firing a Thompson again anytime soon.
“Maybe,” I shouted. Carefully I approached the monster. Blood still oozed out of the holes I put into it, but it seemed to be dead.
Using the tip of my SKS I gave it a jab. Nothing. No movement whatsoever. Reaching out I ran my hand down the unmarred side of the animal. It was both smooth and scaly. Not something I would forget for a long time. “Not your time anymore.”
The police chief needed care. A tourniquet only goes so far before you lose the limb. Fortunately for us, the mayor drives fast. At the first sign of the monster, he hightailed it to the nearest phone and called in everyone.
When I say everyone, I do mean everyone. Barely an hour after the last shot was fired, we had TV crews, firefighters, ambulances, State Police, local FBI, and a Coast Guard cutter at the site.