Shadow Of The Abyss

by Edward J. McFadden III

  They spent the next hour shifting boats around using Lenah’s truck. When they had the Sea Hunter IV hitched and ready to roll Lenah crawled through Shep’s doggy door and opened the shop. They scavenged gas, rebar, wood, a handheld grinder, a drill, some sheet metal, heavy-duty snippers, and some other tools, none of which would be missed right away. Splinter searched for shaft material for his harpoons and settled on two broom handles and a shovel handle.

  Lenah and Splinter loaded everything into the pickup bed next to the guns and pulled the boat out of the gate onto the road. Then Splinter unhitched the trailer and they went back into the yard and put all the boats they’d moved back in their original spots. In the dark you couldn’t tell the Sea Hunter IV was gone.

  They said goodbye to Shep, closed the gate and lined-up the lock, and re-hitched the trailer. Lenah turned the rig around carefully on the narrow road. Last thing they needed was a jackknife. She headed back to route 70 and went east toward the Atlantic coast.

  Splinter opened the windows, and the cool night air pushed out the rank stench of stale hamburger, fries and coffee. He said, “Last thing we need is some heavy artillery.”

  Lenah chuckled. “Any ideas?”

  “There are people you can buy from in Miami, but it’s dangerous and takes time because they check you out. Nobody wants to sell to some terrorist,” Splinter said.

  “How noble. Who do they expect them to be used on?” she said.

  Splinter said nothing.

  “You’re looking for grenades? Missile launchers? That kind of stuff?”

  “Ideally. I can make bombs, but as you know they’ll be unstable, and hard to light and control.”

  “Don’t see how we’re gonna get any of the real stuff. This is Florida, but even down here you can’t go buying missiles.”

  “Make them it is then. We should grab our supplies before we hit the water. We need a home improvement store and a supermarket.”

  “What are we doing here, Splinter? I thought the plan was to find the thing and call the fuzz?” she said.

  “It is. It is,” he said in his easy tone. She didn’t believe it for a second and she frowned. The frown that said he was an idiot if he thought she believed that. “Just being prepared. We need food and supplies because I don’t want to become food.”

  “I swam with it for ten hours,” she said.

  “And you never kissed it like I did. We’re closer. Period,” Splinter said.

  She chuckled. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “Ahh, I just like getting my way, and screwing Guppy is a bonus. What will he do when he finds out? Call the police?”

  “Naw. I know too much about him, and he’s given me that ‘lose my number speech’ before. He doesn’t mean it. No, most likely he’ll call me all pissed-off, but he’ll get over it.”

  The Ford rumbled through the darkness, the horizon in the east getting gray with the coming day.

  “Where you dropping us? Lenny’s?”

  Lenah said, “Yeah. I can leave my truck there and we can hide the trailer over by the scrap heap. He won’t see it.”

  The sun was coming up and the gray of dawn covered the world when they stopped at the market and a lumberyard. Splinter picked up what he needed to make pipe bombs, and they bought all kinds of food, and even some beer. Traffic was light, and they made good time. Lenah made the left into Lenny’s, spun the wheel and slipped the trailer down the launch ramp in one fluid motion. Splinter jumped out and worked the winch, but the boat didn’t slide off the trailer.

  “Give it a jolt,” Splinter shouted.

  Lenah came back slowly, then stomped on the brakes and the truck rocked the trailer and the boat broke free and floated into the canal. They loaded all the supplies onto the boat, including the old deck mounted harpoon gun, dumped the trailer, and hid Lenah’s pickup in an overgrown section of the yard. They filled-up using Lenny’s pump and her credit card.

  They boarded the Sea Hunter IV and shoved off. The diesels fired right up, and they gurgled in the early morning dusk as the ship edged from the marina. Other fishing boats headed for the inlet via Indian River, but not as many as usual. The waterway wasn’t closed, but a warning had been issued.

  The sun came up, and sunlight shimmered off the ocean, the sky clear.

  A Coast Guard cutter sat moored just inside the inlet, and several harbor patrol boats and coastie SAFE boats patrolled the inland sea.

  “Looks like they’re focusing close to shore,” Lenah said.

  “Makes sense. They’re trying to avoid bad PR, we’re trying to find the thing,” Splinter said. “People are panicking and the community is demanding action. The authorities want to be seen providing and acting.”

  Lenah turned on the radio and cycled through the channels. “First sign we’re calling Silva and the coasties. First whiff,” she said.

  Splinter said nothing.

  “Where to? Our old spot off South Beach Park? With all the ships cleared out it might head back that way for seconds,” she said.

  “Good a place to start as any. What are we gonna do without your special sauce?” Splinter said.

  “Don’t worry. I picked up a few cans. We can whip something up. Won’t be as good, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

  “There’s a bucket in the galley. You want me to get it going?”

  “Yeah.”

  Splinter retrieved the bucket, along with the two jars of pickled pig’s feet, fake meat dog treats, fish oil, chicken livers and moldy cheese. He mixed it all together in the bucket with a little seawater, and though it didn’t smell as bad as Lenah’s secret sauce, it was rank.

  “All the oil will leave a good slick,” she said.

  Lenah turned the boat east, and they passed through the inlet, and into the sunrise, the Atlantic Ocean churning west in a steady rolling three-foot swell that cut across the bow. She pushed down on the throttle and didn’t look back.

  Splinter did look back, but all he saw was shoreline in the grayness, and the twinkling lights of Fort Pierce.

  30

  The Atlantic Ocean was flat and the air stifling, not so much a puff of wind to cool things down. Humidity was at eighty percent and sweat dripped down Splinter’s back and his t-shirt was soaked through. Lenah hid her discomfort, but it was clear she was suffering. Wet stains under her armpits, a line of sweat running up the back of her shorts, her hair looking like she’d just stuck her finger in an electric socket, all told Splinter she was tired and uncomfortable.

  “You want to take a nap while I keep an eye on things?” Splinter said.

  The Sea Hunter IV drifted with the roll of the ocean off South Beach Park. Lenah had a good chum slick going, but there’d been no sign of the beast. Splinter cleaned and polished the old harpoon gun, but it would take a lot more work to make it usable.

  “Yeah, I think I will. I’m washed out. Call me if you need me,” she said.

  Splinter nodded, and she disappeared into the cabin below deck where there was a couch in the galley.

  The harpoon gun was steel, but it was so old most of the crucial parts were rusted or damaged. Splinter used WD-40, a rag, and elbow grease as he scrubbed and disassembled the old gun. Hours slipped away, and there was no sign of the creature, or any fish.

  The sun passed noon, and it got hotter and stickier. Splinter took a break from cleaning the harpoon gun and started on the bombs. He’d purchased metal tiki candle lights, which were made to hold citronella oil. Splinter screwed the top off each candle and filled them with gasoline, being careful not to overfill them. The wicks were wide and full and took-up a lot of space in the can. Once all eight were filled, Splinter sealed each by threading the wick through the cap and twisting it back on the can. He’d have to be careful with them because they weren’t sealed at the top, and the wicks would burn very fast.

  Just as he was finishing, Lenah emerged from the cabin. “Yo. All good?”

  “Yup. They’re no more than Molotov cocktails, but they�
�re better than nothing. You?”

  “Hungry and thirsty, but better,” she said. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  “We now have eight incendiary bombs and I made some progress on the harpoon gun.”

  “I can see that. Can I take a turn?”

  “Yeah, and I think I’m going to lay down for a bit. Get some rest myself. I’m running on empty.”

  “Eat first?”

  “Sure.”

  Lenah fixed them up ham sandwiches, and she had a water and brought Splinter a beer. “You deserve it,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He popped the beer open and drank it down with one pull. Then he nibbled at his sandwich. When he was done he got up and stretched. “I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Any special instructions on this thing?”

  “Don’t cut yourself. Some of those old rusted edges are sharp.”

  Splinter went below and found the couch in the galley. He took off his shoes and lay down, hands behind his head. He was asleep in minutes.

  Dreams of Kabul tormented him, but the creature was also there, interspersed in his nightmares like it had always been there, part of the history he fought to forget.

  He woke to Lenah screaming.

  “Splinter! Get up here. Splinter!”

  He launched off the couch and ran up the steps onto deck.

  “You OK? You scared me,” he said.

  “Sorry. Look,” she said and handed him the binoculars.

  About 500 yards off the port bow, a fin scythed through the water heading west, following the chum slick toward the shoreline. Whatever it was appeared not to notice them.

  “What do you make of it?” Splinter said.

  “Don’t know, but I’m going to get on the radio,” she said.

  Lenah went to the command console and lifted the radio mic. She switched to the emergency channel and hailed the Coast Guard. No response. She pressed the button to hail them again, but she paused when she noticed the fin had disappeared.

  “It’s gone?” she yelled.

  “Seems so. You already call it in?”

  “Got no response.”

  “What does the fish finder say?”

  “Got nothing big. Must have gone deep. You think it was our fish? It kinda looked like its caudal fin.”

  “Damn,” Splinter said.

  Lenah came back out on deck and the two companions studied the ocean, but saw nothing except the reflection of the fading day and the oily chum slick that left a nasty ring around the boat’s waterline.

  Lenah saw Splinter looking at the underwater scooters, and said, “No way.”

  “Come on. I need to see what’s going on down there. An underwater view could tell us so much. A new perspective.”

  Lenah said nothing.

  “I’ll stay in radio contact and won’t go far. Promise. I’ll come right back at the first sign of trouble,” Splinter said.

  The underwater scooters looked like bicycles with thick square frames. The diver’s tank sat beneath the handlebars, and a rear propeller pushed the scooter through the water, the rider’s head covered in a dive helmet. Full throttle the bikes went about four knots. Not fast enough to outrun the crocosaurus.

  “What if the thing goes after you? You can’t outrun it,” she said.

  “I know, but these things are very maneuverable,” Splinter said.

  “Still, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  Splinter sighed and went back to work cleaning and fixing the harpoon gun.

  When the sun went down the beast hadn’t returned, and Splinter was ready to mount the harpoon gun. Using the hoist arm used for the Zodiac, Splinter lifted the old gun and placed it in the bow as forward as he could. Then he started the arduous chore of drilling the holes for the mounting bolts. He was at it two hours and he only completed one when he called it for the night.

  They ate another meal of sandwiches, and Lenah went below to sleep while Splinter took the first watch. The night deepened and moonglow shimmered off the Atlantic. Waves slapped the hull, lulling him toward sleep. Stars blinked, and seagulls circled overhead, drawn by the chum slick. Splinter poured more of the rank liquid into the sea.

  Around 2AM Lenah emerged and took his place and Splinter slept, and this time his dreams were filled with the sound of water and howling wind. He’d had similar dreams for weeks after the tsunami, and they’d started up again in the last week, his subconscious warning him of danger.

  The next morning dawned hotter than the day before, and Splinter gave up drilling the second mounting hole. Sweat dripped down his face and back, and he was already exhausted, so he switched to making harpoons.

  He did this by cutting the rebar into two-foot lengths and using the grinder to fashion a barbed point on each. Then he cut and fit the rebar into a wooden shaft he made from the broom handles. In this way he was able to make four harpoons that fit within the old harpoon gun’s sling.

  Lenah took a turn drilling holes, then Splinter, and it took them the better part of three days before all the mounting holes were drilled, and the speargun mounted. Lenah moved the Sea Hunter IV several times, going out as far as ten miles and as close as two, drifting up and down the coast, but they saw no sign of the beast.

  On their sixth day Splinter thought he saw the shadow of the beast off the starboard bow, and then again aft, but he couldn’t be sure.

  The sun was high, and rain clouds dotted the western horizon like puffs of smoke. Splinter felt the fog coming on, anger layered over fear and doubt. This thing was messing with him, playing games, and it had disappeared into the abyss.

  “Not this time,” Splinter said. He began removing the mounting brackets for one of the underwater scooters.

  “No way, Splinter,” Lenah said.

  He didn’t listen. He connected the hoist cable to a ring screwed into the base of the scooter. Working the winch remote, he lifted the bike and placed it gently on deck. He inserted a fresh scuba tank in its holder, checked the airflow to the dive helmet, and mounted the scooter. He placed the helmet over his head, checked his gauges, and gave the thumbs up signal.

  Lenah stood her ground and shook her head. “I’m not helping you kill yourself.”

  He lifted the helmet and said, “I’m just taking a look. I’m not going to engage the thing.”

  Lenah went to Splinter and undid the clasps on the dive helmet and lifted it off his head. Splinter started to protest, but Lenah put a finger across his lips. “Breathe. Breathe,” she said.

  Splinter did breathe.

  “You OK?”

  Splinter would never be accused of being smart, but he had to agree taking the underwater scooter out wasn’t the brightest idea.

  “Put that gear away. You’re not going underwater with that thing swimming around. I won’t lose you that way. Not on my watch,” she said.

  “Let’s head in, have a real meal, sleep in a real bed, and start fresh in the morning,” Splinter said.

  He’d been ready to jump in the drink with croczilla and had thought nothing of it. On an underwater tourist scooter that went four knots. Lenah pulled him from the abyss, saved him from himself. How much longer would she be there? What would he do when she wasn’t? Splinter rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the unease. Maybe he would go to the doc at the VA and get some pills. How bad could they be? If it made Lenah happy, and allowed him to trust himself around her, and in civilization, it might be worth it.

  Lenah eased the throttle down and the Sea Hunter IV shuddered and moaned as it pushed through the sea.

  They didn’t see the creature the next day, or the next, or the next. Splinter was starting to think the beast had departed. The coasties reduced patrols, and the harbor patrol was back on a regular schedule. So it was they saw no other boats as they inched through Fort Pierce inlet on a mid-summer Tuesday, the sun coming up in the east, the wind creating a blown-out chop.

  Splinter used the ideal hours preparing their arsenal. The harpoon gun was mounted in the bow, and it wa
s loaded with one of the handmade bolts. The guns were loaded and ready. Fire bombs prepared. The radio crackled with light local traffic. Most charters were only going out a few days a week, choosing not to waste money on gas. Only the larger fishing boats were still going out once a day. These boats toted families looking to save a buck and were happy to catch sea robins as long as the kids had fun. Some of the bigger boats were running ‘search for the monster’ trips.

  “At what point do we give this up?” Lenah said.

  “Will asked me that way at the beginning,” he said.

  “And what was your answer?”

  “I don’t know. Obsession is funny that way. Doesn’t always discuss the rational options with you,” Splinter said.

  “Knowing you’re obsessed should aid you in correcting said obsession.”

  “Yes, doctor, that’s true, but way over simplified,” he said. “Ask me why I’m hunting this thing right now? At this moment?”

  Lenah said nothing.

  “Because I’ve got nothing better to do,” he said.

  Splinter held a straight face for ten seconds, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

  They both laughed, and the Sea Hunter IV rumbled on into the rising sun.

  31

  Four more days passed with no sign of the creature.

  They drifted from Vero Beach to Port St. Lucie, through a search grid of over 500 square miles, but they’d seen no sign of croczilla. Each day they left port a little later, and quit a little earlier, and Lenah complained about missing out on charters, though there weren’t many to be had. The beast might be gone, but nobody had bothered to inform the fish, who were still mostly MIA. Rorey, a buddy of Lenah’s, had told her he caught a few sailfish and a tarpon on his last trip, all keepers. This was the biggest success story they’d heard in over a week. If the fish were coming back, they were taking their time.

  Lenah’s new cell chirped at around 1PM, and it woke Splinter from his dozing. The Sea Hunter IV was six miles off shore, and communication signals were subject to the whims of the wind.