by Steve Alten
The female whipped its caudal fin, homing in on the remaining kayak.
* * *
Jon glanced up from paddling to see the reassuring glow of lights coming from a building situated at the entrance to a private pier. “Straight ahead, Shirley,” he yelled, stroking harder. “We’re almost there.”
Shirley turned, then stopped paddling, staring at the expanse of ocean behind them.
“Shirley, don’t stop—”
“Jon . . .” Her brown eyes widened with fear.
The dorsal fin was closing on them.
* * *
Jonas continued listening to the beeping of the homing transmitter as he scanned the choppy surface, the fading light from the setting sun making it difficult to see.
“Signal’s weakening. Try circling back.”
The helicopter banked away from the Broken Group Islands, racing for the southernmost tip of Ucluelet.
“Mac—there.” Jonas pointed. “Looks like they’re heading for that pier.”
“And look who’s escorting them in.”
* * *
The muscles in Jon Kollin’s back burned, his forearms ached. His hands were so sore from bleeding blisters that he could barely maintain his grip on the paddle.
A sudden movement caused him to turn to his right. Out of the sea rose a three-foot wake, buffeting the kayak sideways.
The ghost surfaced, gliding effortlessly on its side, its luminescent skin tinged with an orange glow from the fading sunlight. A soulless gray eye looked up at Jon from just below the waterline. The jaw quivered open, exposing the points of its teeth.
Shirley shrieked.
Adrenaline and fear drove Jon’s oar through the sea. He continued staring at the shark as he paddled, mesmerized by its impossible size. Tearing himself away, he searched for the end of the pier.
Forty yards ahead.
The fish slapped its tail along the surface and submerged.
“Oh, God—oh, God—this is it,” Jon yelled. “It’s coming up from under to attack, just like it did before. Shirley, free your legs from the kayak and get ready to jump.”
She stopped paddling, twisting her body loose.
“I’m free, now you,” she called out, balancing on her knees as she paddled.
Jon fought to pull his lower body from the boat, his legs feeling numb from sitting too long. His arms shook with exhaustion and adrenaline. As one leg pulled free, he saw the water turn white beneath them.
“Shirley, jump—jump!”
The Megalodon’s head launched from the sea, its eyes rolling back as its jaws widened to sandwich the kayak. Shirley and Jon felt their boat rising beneath them and jumped. The giant bear trap of a maw snapped shut, crushing the empty kayak as the two boaters flew through the air and tumbled into the sea.
The blast of freezing water sent Jon into action. Righting himself, he quickly kicked to the surface, only to feel the creature’s submerging bulk momentarily drag him back down again.
Jon’s mind screamed at him to kick harder. He resurfaced, relieved to see his wife already swimming to the pier less than twenty feet away. He raised a dead-tired arm to stroke, terrified to find he could barely move, his muscles heavy as lead.
Shirley reached for the edge of the dilapidated dock and pulled herself up, scraping her arms as she rolled onto the decking. She sat up, chest heaving, and screamed as loud as she could, “Jon, swim faster!”
Below the surface, the Megalodon shook its head to and fro, unable to locate its prey among the remains of the kayak. A second later, it homed in on the telltale vibrations along the surface. The shark turned, whipping its head and tail back and forth in an effort to regain its forward momentum.
Jon had reached the edge of the pier but was beyond exhaustion, unable to even raise his hand out of the water to pull himself to safety. Shirley reached down and grabbed her husband’s wrist. Tug as she might, she was unable to budge the two-hundred-pound man.
Then she saw the surface churn thirty feet behind him.
The terror in his wife’s bulging eyes was enough. Adrenaline pumping, Jon scrambled onto the pier, then grabbed Shirley by her waist and leaped sideways.
The head of the rampaging beast struck the wharf, obliterating two of the wooden pilings, sending an entire section of the deck crashing into the sea, Jon and Shirley with it.
Like a mad bull lusting after blood, the Megalodon turned its jaws upon the swirling debris, chomping along the surface as it blindly searched for its prey.
Jon pushed his wife up a short wooden ladder as four-foot waves crested over his back. As he climbed onto the damaged pier, he turned to see the shark gliding in from behind.
He grabbed Shirley’s hand and ran, hearing the dull thud of their footsteps across the weathered wooden planks, the crashing sea on either side of them.
Sensing the vibrations of its fleeing prey, the Megalodon slipped beneath the pier, homing in on the source of the sounds.
Jon turned as the pier shook. The decking behind them exploded into splinters as the monstrous shark, in its madness to feed, smashed its triangular snout upward through the wooden planks.
“Faster,” he yelled, trying his best not to stumble as he pulled Shirley toward the gated entrance of the private pier. “Damn it—”
A fifteen-foot-high chain-link construction fence blocked their escape. The barrier continued to their right, fastened to the side of a seafood restaurant situated on an adjacent pier.
Jon tried the gate while his wife ran to the side of the restaurant, pounding on a metal fire door.
Without warning, the wooden planks beneath his feet fractured, driven upward by the predator’s conical snout.
Jon grabbed onto the fence, clutching the aluminum links between his fingers, holding on for dear life as the decking beneath his feet collapsed into the sea. Swirling below the dark waters and splintered planks was a white glow.
“Jon, this way!”
Jon swung himself sideways, stepping gingerly over the gap and onto a wooden walkway bordering the side of the restaurant. Shirley grabbed his hand, pulling him through an open gate and onto the pier supporting the main dining area of the restaurant.
“Shirley, wait, we’re going the wrong way—”
“There’s a balcony out back. We have to go through the restaurant to get off the pier.”
Shirley led him past bay windows encircling the glass-enclosed banquet room. Startled patrons looked up from candlelit dinners, unaware of the creature circling beneath the pier.
Shirley banged on the outer glass balcony door. Jon saw the luminescent fin rise.
A waiter walked toward the door, shaking his head. He pointed to the side, directing them to the front entrance—as a tremendous force shook one of the pilings supporting the pier.
Jon banged on the thick glass. “Open the fucking door, or I’ll kick it in!”
The waiter backed away as another man, obviously a manager, approached, unlatching the door.
Shirley yanked open the door, Jon practically pushing her into the lavish dining room. They stood there, dripping wet, catching their breath.
“Madame, you cannot—”
“Get everyone out of here,” Shirley yelled, “the pier’s collapsing!”
Shirley led her husband past the stunned diners, searching for the way out.
“Madame, monsieur—”
“You heard my wife, Frenchy, get everyone off this—”
With a colossal boom, the entire restaurant shook in an earthquakelike upheaval that shattered the bay windows and sent patrons and their entrées toppling onto the floor.
Above the din of protests and screams, Jon heard a tremendous crack, as one of the damaged pilings collapsed beneath the pier.
The restaurant began to tilt
Jon grabbed Shirley’s hand and ran, pushing and shoving through a maze of tables and dozens of people now scrambling toward the front entrance.
* * *
Hovering high above the
melee, Jonas and Mac could only watch as the back end of the restaurant cracked off and collapsed, tumbling into the sea.
Solutions
Mariana Trench
Sergei waited in the corridor outside Terry’s door until the Prometheus pushed away from its docking sleeve.
“Decided to stay, eh?” called out the Russian in broken English, laughing sadistically as he made his way down the corridor.
Terry sat on the floor, fighting to remain calm.
The knock startled her.
“It’s Benedict.”
She wiped her face and opened the door.
“My dear, why on earth are you still aboard?” he asked innocently. “The Prometheus departed early this morning.”
“Who are you kidding? Your Russian goon’s been sitting outside my door for the last few hours—”
“Sergei?” Benedict shook his head. “I didn’t know.”
“Sure you didn’t. Is this how you get yourself off, Benedict, by screwing with other people’s emotions?”
Benedict’s eyes flashed a warning. “We’ll speak again after you’ve regained control of your emotions.”
She watched him disappear down the corridor. Terry slammed the cabin door shut. She waited ten minutes, then reopened it and made a dash for the companionway. She ascended two levels and ran through the corridor leading to Heath’s lab.
Terry knocked, then pushed open the door. The room was empty. Locking the door behind her, she hurried through to the adjoining room, looking for the government agent.
The fossilized skull stared back at her.
Distraught, she left the lab and headed upstairs to B deck.
She spotted Captain Hoppe in the control room. Remembering how he had stood up to Benedict, she approached, pulling him aside.
“Are you all right?” he asked.”You shouldn’t be here—”
“Can I speak with you in private?”
“The Epimetheus should be arriving momentarily,” the captain said, more for his crew than for her. “Come upstairs. We’ll watch her as she descends.”
Terry followed him up the access-tube ladder into the observation deck. She waited impatiently while he activated the observation dome, retracting the titanium outer covering from the reinforced LEXAN glass.
“Speak quietly,” he said. “The walls have ears.”
“Benedict’s keeping me on board like some kind of prisoner—”
“I know.”
“Can’t you help me?”
“I’m—I’m not sure.”
“Where’s Heath? What happened to him?”
“The paleo-biologist? I believe he left earlier this morning aboard the Prometheus.”
Her heart sank. How could he have left without taking her?
“Captain, please, I have to get off this ship.”
Hoppe appeared nervous. “What can I do?”
“Radio the authorities for help.”
Hoppe shook his head. “All comm links aboard the Benthos and her subs are routed through the Goliath. There’s no way to bypass the system.”
Terry felt tears of desperation welling in her eyes. “Can you pilot the Epimetheus?”
The question seemed to perturb the captain. “We wouldn’t get very far. We certainly can’t outrun the Goliath—”
“How close is the nearest island?”
“About a hundred and twenty nautical miles due west of our present position.”
“We could make it.”
Captain Hoppe turned to face the abyss. He nodded toward a faint light in the distance. “Here comes the Epimetheus,” he muttered.
“Captain, please—”
For a long moment Hoppe stared at his dark reflection in the glass. “I’ve been with Benedict for more than twenty years. He took me in. At the time I was a useless alcoholic who had just killed my wife and little girl driving drunk.” Hoppe looked into her eyes, wiping back a tear. “I guess my daughter’d be about your age now.”
“You’d be saving my life.”
“I want you to return to your cabin and remain there. Don’t speak to anyone. I’ll meet you on G deck at three hundred hours.”
* * *
For the next fourteen hours Terry remained locked in her cabin, anxiously awaiting her chance to escape her benthic prison.
Benedict had wasted little time. The moment the Epimetheus had docked, he ordered the sub into the Trench, this time keeping the Benthos hovering close by. Terry heard the sub redock sometime after midnight. At this point she had no idea what Geo-Tech was doing in the abyss, but had decided the deployment of the UNIS robots was nothing more than a clever ruse to disguise Benedict’s own personal quest.
At ten minutes before three in the morning, Terry opened the door to her cabin, the iron bar clenched firmly in her right fist. Barefoot, shoes in hand, she quietly made her way down the two flights of the companionway, stepping out onto G deck.
She waited in the barren corridor and listened.
Someone’s voice . . . coming from the hangar. Captain Hoppe?
Hurrying down the deserted corridor, she approached the watertight door, surprised to find it slightly ajar. She peeked through the crack and saw Captain Hoppe squatting on his knees by the far wall, his back to her.
Terry entered the hangar, pushing the thick door shut behind her.
“Captain, what are you doing in here?”
As she touched the man’s shoulder, he tumbled sideways, blood gushing from his severed throat.
Terry’s scream was stifled by Sergei’s hand.
“What kept you?” whispered the Russian, taking her from behind. He grabbed a fistful of her long hair, then pressed the blade of his hunting knife to her throat with his free hand.
“We have a little fun before I kill you, da? Drop the weapon.”
The iron bar clanged onto the floor by her feet.
“Now remove your pants,” he whispered, his tongue flicking in her ear.
Terry felt the blade of his knife cut her neck, drawing blood. Reaching to her waist, she unbuckled her jeans slowly, her mind racing.
“Push them down, down to your ankles.”
She wriggled the skintight jeans down over her hips, bending to maneuver them over her calves, casually slipping her right foot out of the pant leg.
Panting like an animal, Sergei maintained a grip on her hair while placing the knife between his teeth, freeing one hand to pull his own pants down around his ankles.
Retrieving the knife, he pressed the point to her spine. “Bend over. Spread your legs.”
Terry leaned forward, registering the point of the knife at her back. She spread her legs apart, shifting her weight, preparing herself.
Sergei returned the knife to his mouth, then tore away Terry’s underwear. She shook with disgust as he reached between her legs to guide himself in.
Now!
Terry mule-kicked upward with her free leg, slamming her heel into Sergei’s exposed genitals.
The Russian howled in pain.
Dropping to one knee, she strained to reach the iron bar as Sergei yanked her backward by her hair. Grabbing it, she spun around and—as hard as she could—slammed it on the Russian’s skull.
Sergei dropped in a heap, blood seeping from the top of his head.
She backed up, then hit him again, hearing a satisfying crack.
For a long moment she stood over him, wanting to scream in defiance at the vile creature. Instead, she bent down and pulled her pants back up, then leaned over the Russian and checked for a pulse.
Still alive. . . .
The iron bar poised above her head, she searched the man’s pockets with her free hand, removing a magnetic pass card from his shirt.
The Russian began to stir. Lunging awkwardly, he grabbed her leg.
She let out a half scream, then bashed his knuckles with the metal bar.
Sergei moaned in agony, releasing his grip.
Terry ran to the watertight door leading to the corridor. Ver
ifying it was sealed, she entered the hangar control room, locking the hydraulic door behind her.
She scanned the control panel, locating the flood valves, and twisted them counterclockwise.
Seawater poured in from ventilation pipes in the hangar’s flooring. Sergei rolled over and got to his knees, clutching his head.
Staggering to his feet, the Russian killer sloshed through ankle-deep water, making his way to the watertight door leading to the corridor.
Terry searched the control panel. The red light verified both the corridor and control-room doors could not be opened while the hangar was flooding.
Sergei tugged at the corridor door like a drunk, then noticed Terry sitting in the control room. He pressed his face to the reinforced LEXAN porthole, his eyes exuding a predatory malevolence. He swung his fist, pounding the glass.
The water rose to his waist.
Sergei banged again.
She watched as his hatred changed to fear. He pounded harder, becoming desperate. The water level rose above his neck. He pressed his face to the glass and leered at her.
The water level reached the ceiling. The out doors opened. Terry watched Sergei grab his head a second before his skull imploded like a ripe melon.
She turned away, then slumped in the operator’s chair, emotionally exhausted. The remains of the two mutilated bodies drifted slowly toward the open hangar door, heading for the waiting darkness of the Trench.
A movement caught her eye. Terry shrieked as a colossal brown head suddenly appeared from the abyss. Flat crocodilelike jaws opened wide, revealing a frenzied row of hideous pointed teeth.
Terry froze, watching in fascination and terror as the forty-foot prehistoric marine reptile pushed its head into the hangar and snatched Sergei’s remains in one gargantuan bite. The beast spun upside down as it swallowed, spewing shards of flesh in all directions.
Luminous scarlet eyes searched the hangar for more food.
The remains of Captain Hoppe moved past the beast into the Trench. The freakish reptile pushed itself away from the hangar door to follow, gliding away like a sinuous eel.