The Trench

by Steve Alten

  The length of steel cable running from the William Beebe to the bait hovered two feet over his left shoulder, disappearing 158 feet behind the raft into the gray-black mist-covered sea. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, Jonas was able to trace the line of cable to a small patch of froth, created by the sea lion carcass moving through the surface waters. He heard and felt the deep thrum produced by the underwater speaker, pulsating beneath the waves like a heartbeat.

  Jonas aimed the rifle, focusing the gun sight on the froth of water.

  “Dinner’s ready, Angel,” he whispered, “come and get it.”

  * * *

  Twenty-two miles to the northeast of Cape Chiniak, the 382-foot ferry M/V Kennicott continued its journey south along the Alaskan Marine Highway. Unbeknownst to the ship’s eight hundred passengers and crew, an ivory glow now shadowed the vessel as it made its way to Kodiak Island.

  Entering the Gulf of Alaska, the Megalodon had instinctively increased its speed, a primordial response to the colder ocean temperatures. Evolutionary adaptations that had allowed the giant species to stave off extinction up until the last Ice Age now served to protect the supreme hunter in response to the cold. Chemical secretions within the creature’s nervous and circulatory systems boosted the shark’s capacity to contract its muscles. These swifter, more powerful muscular contractions generated additional heat energy, which raised the Megalodon’s blood temperature six to eight degrees. Enlarged pericardial arteries circulated this increased body heat to the internal organs, while the predator’s sheer mass helped insulate its core temperature from its colder environment.

  Gliding just above the thermocline, Angel continued crisscrossing the Kennicott’s wake, searching for food. Although the female’s rise in visceral temperature had increased her digestive process, the progression of her estrus cycle, combined with the shark’s decreased metabolic rate due to the cold, had left her feeling sluggish. It had been three days since the creature had last fed, and in her weakened state she could not risk attacking a large pod of whales.

  As Angel continued her westerly trek behind the ferry, pressure-wave detectors began sensing familiar vibrations. Aroused, she began beating her caudal fin faster, struggling at first to accelerate her incredible mass. After several dozen powerful thrusts, she managed to increase her forward momentum, reaching a cruising speed her torpedo-shaped body could maintain with little effort. Gliding beneath the ferry, the Megalodon raced ahead, following an acoustical beacon her instincts told her would lead to food.

  2:56 A.M.

  “Jonas, you still alive?”

  Jonas looked up. Though he could hear the rotors beating, the chopper was invisible in the dark cloudy sky. He reached a numb hand for the walkie-talkie, pressing it to his face.

  “I’m still here. How you doing up there?”

  “Wind’s picking up a bit. As long as there’s no lightning, I’m fine. What about you? You must be a Popsicle by now.”

  “The wet suit’s keeping me warm, but the seas are getting rough.”

  “Listen, pal, how ’bout we reel you in and call it a night before you catch pneumonia.”

  “No,” Jonas shouted. “No more nightmares, no more people dying. I told you, I’m ending this tonight, once and for all.”

  “And what if your monster doesn’t show, Ahab?”

  “She’ll show. Out.” Jonas shoved the walkie-talkie into his jacket pocket.

  Two-to-three-foot waves now rolled the raft from side to side. The increased wind drove the rain harder against his face.

  Maybe she won’t show . . .

  Jonas stared into the pitch, the choppy sea appearing lead-gray against the black sky. For at least the hundredth time he replayed the nightmare in his mind’s eye, seeing himself lying dead in the escape pod.

  More images flowed into his mind and he became consumed in a waking dream. He saw himself standing in the rain as the coffins of the two Navy men he had killed eleven years ago were lowered into the ground. He saw himself on board the Magnate, staring into the demon’s mouth, powerless as he watched his ex-wife Maggie being dragged beneath the waves. He saw himself in a courtroom, lawyers accusing him of reckless endangerment as throngs of onlookers chanted “murderer, murderer.” And then Terry, teary-eyed, lying in a hospital bed, grieving the loss of their stillborn child.

  Terry looked up at him, her intense Asian eyes staring through him with the same mixture of sadness and hatred he’d seen in the grieving spouses and parents, the siblings and children.

  Jonas opened his eyes, panting hard to catch his breath.

  The rain had subsided.

  Jonas sat up, kneeling on one of the seats. Unzipping his wet suit, he urinated over the side.

  “Okay, Angel, here I am,” he whispered. “Come and get me.”

  * * *

  Celeste thrust up and down faster, grinding her pelvic bone into his as she rode Maren harder. She heard him moan, then felt him give out before she could please herself.

  “That’s it?” she said, disappointed.

  “Are you kidding?” he whispered, smiling. “That was incredible.”

  She climbed off him. “Glad one of us enjoyed it.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking a shower.”

  He admired her figure as she walked to the bathroom. “Can I join you?”

  She turned to face him. “Michael, no offense, but I don’t think you’re up to it. Now go back to your cabin. I need my sleep.”

  Maren climbed out of bed, slipped on his clothes, and left.

  * * *

  Beep.

  The noise startled Jonas awake. He adjusted the headset and held his breath.

  Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

  Grabbing the grenade rifle in one hand, he reached for the walkie-talkie with the other. “Mac, I just got a signal!”

  Mac searched the black expanse of ocean. “I can’t see her glow yet. Listen, try to stay calm, don’t give your position away.”

  “I’m fine,” Jonas said, nearly hyperventilating as he scanned the sea. The beeps grew louder.

  * * *

  Angel snorted the sea, her directional nostrils homing in on the microscopic particles of urine. Rising to forty feet, she circled her prey from below, choosing to remain at a safe distance while her senses surveyed the environment.

  * * *

  “There she is,” Mac shouted. “She’s circling just below the surface, sixty feet off your starboard side. Hold on, Jonas, she’s passing beneath you—now!”

  Jonas held on, feeling an immense tug from below as the creature’s moving girth momentarily drew the raft sideways. Leaning overboard, Jonas saw the swish of a luminescent tail fin as the beast circled away to his right.

  “Jonas, you there?”

  “Shhh.” Jonas turned the volume down. “Where is she?”

  “She disappeared below.”

  Jonas felt his heart pounding, the pulse in his neck throbbing. He gripped the grenade rifle tighter.

  “Jonas, she’s surfacing behind the bait—”

  Jonas pressed his eye tighter against the rifle’s scope.

  “Thar she blows!” Mac yelled.

  The Megalodon’s snout rose out of the water behind the sea lion, its jaws biting down on the lifeless tail, severing it from the upper torso.

  Targeting the immense head, Jonas held his breath—and fired.

  Click.

  His heart skipped a beat. He reaimed and squeezed the trigger again.

  Click. Click—click.

  “Son of a bitch, the gun’s not firing!”

  And then Jonas’s heart leaped into his throat as the Zodiac suddenly stopped dead in the water. The sea lion carcass, still being towed by the William Beebe, raced at him on a collision course.

  Mac saw the raft stop, then stole a glance at the William Beebe’s stern, spotting a solitary figure disappearing inside.

  “Your rope’s been cut. Hang on, Jonas, I’m coming—”
Mac dropped the airship straight down, aiming the harness for the raft.

  Jonas held his breath, waiting for the harness. Instead he saw the Megalodon’s snout bearing down on the approaching sea lion carcass and his drifting Zodiac.

  Angel’s jaws opened—

  Jump!

  Jonas leaped from the Zodiac and grabbed the steel cable with both hands. The sea lion carcass struck the drifting Zodiac, tossing it upside down.

  Sensing movement, the Megalodon instinctively bit the raft, bursting it in its mouth.

  Jonas held on to the cable like a fallen water-skier refusing to let go. His lower torso bounded painfully against the frigid surface, the slick line cutting and sliding through his butchered hands. With a thud that took his breath away, the remains of the sea lion rammed into him from behind, sending spasms of pain through his injured leg.

  Jonas slipped beneath the half-eaten carcass, wrapping his legs around the bouncing bait as his back slapped painfully against the surf. Blinded by the darkness and freezing water, no longer able to feel his exposed hands, he felt his blood turn to lead while his skin seemed to sizzle beneath the wet suit.

  Way to go, asshole. You’ve killed yourself!

  The Megalodon shook the remains of the Zodiac from her jaws and raced after her fleeing prey.

  Mac’s helicopter soared along the whitecaps, beads of cold sweat streaming into the pilot’s eyes as he desperately attempted to line up the dangling harness with the moving bait. Realizing the task was impossible, he grabbed the radio, shouting at the William Beebe to respond.

  Wedging the sea lion’s head between his knees, Jonas gained enough leverage to push his right foot into the shredded remains of the upper torso. The canister of drugs had fallen into the sea, but he could feel the three-foot hook with his instep. Standing on the steel curvature, he raised his head above the dark waves and gasped for air, his muscles shaking uncontrollably.

  To his horror, he saw the luminescent snout rise up behind him. Jaws and upper gums extended outward, reaching for him.

  The thought occurred to let go. Instead, he torqued his body sideways, swinging the shredded carcass away from the lunging mouth. Chomping down on empty sea, the predator rose again, this time hyperextending its open jaws to engulf the sea lion and Jonas in one humongous bite.

  Jonas shut his eyes. His nightmares had been wrong. He would not die with his wife in the Trench, but here, now, alone, on the open sea.

  A thunderous roar overhead—the tip of the helicopter’s landing gear clipped the towering dorsal fin. The collision cut a deep gash along one side of the fin, sending the chopper spinning wildly out of control.

  The predator submerged.

  Mac fought the joystick, unable to control his yaw. The landing gear struck the sea, then bounced upward before its rotor could hit water. Struggling to regain altitude, realizing he was seconds from stalling, Mac managed to pull the chopper up and over the William Beebe’s stern, crash-landing the heaving bucket of bolts against the lower deck.

  Jonas held on and waited to be eaten. I’m sorry Terry, I was so stupid....

  * * *

  Mac dragged himself from the cockpit and ran to the winch where Harry and Maren were waiting.

  “Mackreides, what the hell are—”

  Mac shoved Maren aside and reversed the winch.

  “Are you crazy—”

  “Get the fuck out of my way—Jonas is out there!”

  * * *

  The Megalodon was moving in three hundred feet of water, swimming directly below her prey. Instincts told her the sea lion was either wounded or dead, but it had struck back, forcing the hunter to reevaluate. Hungry, the female rose again, homing in on the thrashing movements of her prey. This time, instead of going for the kill, the predator would bite and release, then circle back and wait for her quarry to die.

  In his delirium Jonas imagined himself being drawn upward and out of the sea. Then everything went black.

  Mac climbed along the outside of the rail and reached for his friend when the lifeless body toppled backward toward the sea.

  The crook of Jonas’s right knee caught in the curvature of the hook, suspending his body twenty feet above the water like a piece of meat. Mac reached out precariously and grabbed him around the waist as the luminous glow rose beneath him.

  The beast launched itself from the ocean, jaws agape, its upper torso rising alongside the stern of the moving ship. Mac jerked Jonas away from the open maw, practically tossing his friend’s body over his shoulder and onto the deck.

  Missing its prey, the shark clamped its jaws onto the A-frame. For a surreal moment, the creature held on, its stark-white belly leaning against the transom as its immense bulk fell backward, dragging the winch, A-frame, and twenty feet of splintered decking over the side in a mangled heap, the screech of twisted steel screaming in the night

  Mac pulled Jonas close and ducked as the entire winch and cable assembly seemed to jump overboard.

  “Jonas—Jonas, wake up!” Mac checked his airway. “Damn it, he’s not breathing! Harry, get the doc, I can’t feel a pulse. Harry, goddamn it, get the doctor!”

  The stern of the William Beebe looked like it had been struck by a tornado. Standing in the midst of the debris, mesmerized, were Harry and Maren. Ignoring Mac, they continued staring at the white dorsal fin until it disappeared beneath the vessel’s churning wake.

  Intruders

  Mariana Trench

  Terry woke up screaming. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding, her T-shirt drenched in sweat.

  The loud banging on her door continued.

  “Who—who is it?”

  “Benedict. Open the door.”

  Oh, God, he knows . . .

  “Just a minute.”

  Terry slipped on her jeans, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail and opened the door.

  As if examining a crime scene, Benedict’s piercing eyes were on her immediately. “You screamed, and you look quite pale.”

  “I just had a bad dream. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since we’ve been in the Trench. When can I expect to leave?”

  “Soon enough. Finish dressing and come up to the observation deck, there’s something I wish to show you.”

  She closed the door, listening to make sure Benedict had left. Locking the door, she reached into her pants pocket and removed the magnetic security card she had taken from Sergei the night before.

  Where to hide it?

  Using her nail file, she made a three-inch incision along one of the seams of her mattress, then carefully pushed the card inside. After making the bed, she finished dressing and headed up the companionway stairs.

  Her arrival on the bridge was met by a dozen silent gazes. “’Morning,” she mumbled as she climbed the access tube’s ladder to the upper deck.

  The observation room was dark, the only visible radiance coming from outside the bay window where the red glow of the Benthos’s exterior lights revealed the abyss. She saw Benedict’s silhouette against the background of the Trench.

  “Be sure to seal the access tube behind you,” he said in a soft, yet firm voice. “Approach slowly. Their eyesight is surprisingly quite good.”

  Terry followed his orders. She sealed the watertight hatch, then slowly crossed the darkened room to join him by the enormous observation window.

  “No matter what you see, no sudden movements,” Benedict warned.

  “What are we looking at?” she whispered.

  “Be patient and observe.”

  The abyss surrounding the Benthos was bathed in a soft red glow, the seafloor appearing in shadows sixty feet below the hovering ship. A petrified forest of black smokers loomed along the edge of darkness. Tall and very thin, each primordial stack billowed brownish mushroom clouds of soot, scalding water, and sulfurous minerals.

  Terry saw movement—an enormous shadow circling the seafloor, the life-form itself concealed beneath the Benthos. Recalling the creature that had entered the hangar,
she grew terribly afraid.

  More movement, this time from above their heads, as a seventeen-foot gulper eel slithered down along the LEXAN glass, its outstretched funnel-like mouth trailing after a silver hatchet fish. Rather than chase its quicker prey, the dark brown eel curled the tip of its long whiplike tail in front of its jaws. Instantaneously, an orange-white glow ignited at the end of the tapering tail.

  Attracted by the light, the hatchet fish did a quick about-face and darted right into the gulper eel’s awaiting mouth.

  Terry was about to say something when a shadowy presence glided majestically up along the rising curvature of the Benthos’s hull.

  Benedict reached out and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from fleeing.

  The underside of the flat vile head appeared first, revealing a glimpse of Tyrannosaurus-like teeth. Formidable jaw muscles flexed, stretching open the crocodilelike mouth.

  With an almost snakelike quickness, the colossal reptile engulfed the gulper eel in two successive snaps. With a graceful pirouette, the creature swam off, one of its enormous paddlelike appendages slapping the LEXAN glass as it disappeared from view.

  “The species is called Kronosaurus,” Benedict said, anticipating her question. “They are a short-necked breed of pliosaurs, a prehistoric marine reptile that dominated the Mesozoic seas until Carcharodon megalodon evolved seventy million years ago. I’ve counted six of them, all circling the ship.”

  “I thought they were afraid of the Benthos?”

  “Apparently, their appetites have overcome their fears.”

  “I don’t understand.” Terry felt droplets of sweat break out along her neck.

  Benedict turned, his emerald eyes grilling her. “It seems they’ve had a taste of flesh, my dear. Apparently they must have enjoyed it.”

  Terry’s mind raced. “The Proteus—these creatures must have attacked the sub and eaten the remains of the crew.”