by Michael Bray
SPAWN OF THE
DEEP
MICHAEL BRAY
“The fact is that no species has ever had such wholesale control over everything on earth, living or dead, as we now have. That lays upon us, whether we like it or not, an awesome responsibility. In our hands now lies not only our own future, but that of all other living creatures with whom we share the earth.”
― David Attenborough
“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.”
― Abraham Lincoln
“Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.”
― Carl Sagan
CHAPTER 1
PACIFIC OCEAN
Fifteen miles off the Mexican coast
The three killer whales cut through the ocean in pursuit of their prey. At twenty-eight feet in length and weighing close to six tons, the bull led its smaller companions through the icy waters. The creature it hunted was a juvenile itself but was already almost comparable in size. It carved through the water, propelling itself forward with its flippers, an array of eight tentacles pulled close to its grey-green body to aid its motion through the ocean. Unlike its warm-blooded pursuers, the creature had no need to breathe air, and so went deeper, gaining a little distance as the Orcas were forced to surface, blasting spray into the overcast skies then immediately diving, adjusting their course and closing in on their target.
The creature was one of three born in the wild, spawn of its mother, an animal which when fully grown would reach an astonishing three hundred feet in length and in doing so become the most dominant predator in the ocean if allowed to survive. Aware of this, the Orcas were hunting not to feed, but to destroy the threat to their own safety before it became too great.
Young and inexperienced, the creature increased its speed, desperately trying to flee, but the whales were more than equal to it. They formed a line, swimming in tandem and closing in on the nineteen-foot juvenile. One on one, the creature would be more than a match for a single Orca, but against an experienced hunting pack such as this, the odds were firmly against it. Riding the underwater currents, the creature took a moment to rest, letting the ocean do the work. It had been chased for almost two hours now, and its energy reserves were almost depleted. It angled down, moving through a natural valley on the ocean floor, streaking inches above the surface flanked by immense walls of natural rock. The whales followed, the two smaller males behind the larger, dominant bull. Sensing the end was near, the killer whales increased their speed.
The creature turned, angling around to face its hunters, forcing the Orcas to slow. This wasn’t something they had anticipated and they hesitated in their attack. It was then that the second creature came from above, swimming into the lead Orca, and driving its bony snout into the whale’s body with the force of a freight train. The whale was driven into the rocky floor of the canyon, bones splintering, internal organs ravaged. From behind, the third creature came, clamping its massive jaws down on the fluke of one of the smaller males, serrated teeth shearing away blubber and crushing bone. Now, the creature which had spent so long being pursued was assisting its kin in destroying the larger bull, ripping and shearing away the stricken whales flesh. The hot blood spilled into the ocean, further increasing the frenzy. The third whale, which had been in the middle of the pack, angled away, desperate to flee now that the odds had changed and hunter had become hunted.
Exhausted and needing to breathe, the seventeen-foot Orca made towards the surface, its survival instinct the only thing driving it on. The trio of creatures followed, leaving the bloody, shattered remains of their kill drifting along the canyon floor, bloody chunks of flesh caught in the currents.
The three creatures swam in tandem, the pack closing on the sole remaining Orca. The largest of the three was a mottled green-brown in colour and already almost forty feet in length. It accelerated into the lead, passing the Orca without attacking. Instead it waited there, blocking the whales escape route. Its strategy was clear. Every time the Orca tried to surface for air the larger creature would cut it off, driving it back into the depths where its brethren waited, circling and waiting, snapping at their prey but not going in for the kill. This is a strategy they had developed instinctively since birth, working together to draw in unsuspecting prey to the canyon where its kin waited ready to attack. This was their method, their trap for the other predators of the sea, one they had been forced to learn after two of the five that had initially been born into the wild had been picked off and killed.
Desperate for air, the Orca made a last push for the surface despite the presence of the larger creature. It was this move that they had been waiting for.
Just ten feet from the surface, the larger creature lunged and struck, biting down on the whale’s exposed pectoral flipper, shearing away the appendage in one devastating, bloody bite. The wounded Orca lurched away, its need for air temporarily forgotten in its instinctive need for self-preservation. It was then that the others came, twin demons from the abyss, streaking towards the helpless whale.
It was over in minutes.
The Orca, like the rest of its pod, was destroyed. Silence fell over the ocean, as each of the three creatures returned to one of the kills, enjoying the spoils of their efforts and asserting their undisputed dominance of the ocean.
CHAPTER TWO
TULARE COUNTY SUPERIOR COURT
221 South Mooney Boulevard
Visalia, California
TWO YEARS LATER
The trial had been a media sensation. It had dragged on for almost three years and was finally nearing its conclusion. Jim Feeney had already been convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of truck driver Sam Bolton and his friend Clayton Appleby. Cold and emotionless on the stand, Feeney had glared at Joanne, who had given the key evidence against him that swayed the jury to convict. Along with Jim, the Russev brothers, Pavel and Alexi, had also been jailed, although their convictions were for a string of offences and outstanding warrants going back years. Even so, they received twenty-year sentences each, the country grateful to have such ruthless individuals off the streets.Finally, the stage was set for the trial of Greg Michaels, Joanne Penn, Tom and Fernando Lang, and Marie Williams.
The lawyers did as all lawyers do, claiming and counter claiming, trying to trip up their opposite numbers as evidence was presented, countered and discredited.
Those following the proceedings expected all involved to receive a hefty jail sentence in addition to the time they had already spent in custody during the trial. Today was finally the day of sentencing and the conclusion to a trial which still had the interest of the public.
The courtroom was already full, and the stifling California heat was cutting through despite the air conditioning being set to full.
Henry Rainwater sat in the third row, itching at his neck as the cheap suit he had purchased solely for the trial continued to irritate him. He wished in the back of mind that he could have shown up in his cargo shorts and a t-shirt, or maybe jeans and a vest. Something that would let him at least be comfortable as he watched events unfold. He had been sober for almost a year, although he still fought daily against the demons which threatened to tip him off the wagon at the earliest opportunity. The trauma of the last few years had been hard on him and his thick beard was knotty and streaked with silver. Ever since Clara’s death, he had been consumed with a deeper incarnation of the same guilt which had plagued him after he lost Mackay and his family on the Red Gold. His response had been the one he always reverted to, which was to isolate himself and wallow in self-pity and misery. He had been offered help, of course. Therapy sessions, counselling, appointments with some of the best psychiatrists and doctors av
ailable. He had rejected them all, feeling that he deserved the perpetual pain and misery which he existed in.
Ross Mackay sat beside him. Rainwater glanced at him, and even now was still caught off guard at how similar he looked to his late brother. They had the same nose and down-turned mouth, the same furrowed brow. Sensing he was being watched, Ross glanced at Henry, cool blue eyes not quite kind, but inquisitive.
“Ye alright lad?” he said, the Scottish accent even thicker than that of his late brother.
“Yeah, it’s just weird that it’s finally going to be over.”
“They’ll de’ time for this. Surely te God.”
“You’d think so,” Rainwater mumbled, staring at Greg who was sitting in the stand and awaiting judgement.
“What will ye do then?”
Rainwater looked at Mackay. “What do you mean?”
“Well, ye’ve been waitin’ on this trial forever, readin’ about it, obsessin’ about it.”
“I know, you’ve already told me how weird I am about it.”
“Ahm not havin’ a go at ye lad, I’m just lookin’ oot for ye. Ye’ve spent so much time obsessin’ over this trial that ah’ wonder if ye’ve considered what happens when it’s over.”
“You’ve been here too. You’re just as interested as I am.”
“Aye, I am. But its different fer me. Ahm’ here to support you because you did right bah mah brother. When this is all finished, ah’ can go back to mah little cabin up in Scotland and live a happy life, don’t ye worry aboot that, lad.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s bollocks and ye know it. Ah don’t want ye turnin’ back to tha booze when this is done cause’ ye don’t think there’s anythin’ else te do wi yer life.”
“I already told you, I’m off that stuff. For good,” he replied, even then feeling the nagging pull of the bottle calling to him, reminding him how brilliantly effective it was at blotting out the pain and the agony of his pitiful existence. He shook it off, and checked his watch. “It should be starting soon.”
“Aye, then we can forget this bloody circus and get on with our lives, eh?”
“Yeah,” Rainwater mumbled. “Exactly.”
There was a murmur of chatter as the presiding judge entered. Judge Roberts was a dour, skinny wretch of a man with deep, sunken eyes and slick black hair.His manner was dry and he somehow managed to ride that fine line between showing interest in proceedings and looking thoroughly bored at the same time.
Those in attendance rose in unison as the judge made his way to his seat, everyone else following suit as he sat down. Rainwater looked at him, knowing he alone had the power to bring justice to those who had changed the course of his life forever. For Rainwater, the blame was placed firmly on the shoulders of Greg Michaels. It was him who, in Rainwater’s opinion, had been so reckless and self-obsessed that it had led to the death of Clara, and had almost cost the lives of several others in the process. The expectation was that he would be looking at fifteen years minimum in prison, the others likely a lesser sentence if it was decided that, as popular opinion seemed to believe, they were both influenced and blackmailed by Michaels in order to force them to help him. The people settled as the judge addressed the crowd, outlining the notes of the case. They were all aware of it of course, but this was part of the process and so they sat and listened. Rainwater looked across to the defence lawyers, and was surer than ever that they were government hired. Much of what had happened had been swept aside, truths altered, facts changed in order to protect Andrews and anyone else involved in Project Blue. Their involvement in any aspect of the trial had been eradicated, wiped from record before Michaels was even in handcuffs. For as much as he hated him for what he had done, Rainwater knew that Michaels had no affiliation with the government, nor did the others who were on trial with him. They just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and had been caught up in something that they had no comprehension of.
He turned his attention back to the judge, who was wrapping up his summary by detailing the list of charges. The group were collectively charged with theft, criminal damage, obstructing justice, and endangering public safety. In addition, Michaels alone was charged with involuntary manslaughter of Clara Thompson, which was the charge Rainwater was most looking forward to hearing the verdict of. The defence lawyers had argued that Michaels himself brought no harm to her, and so shouldn’t be convicted based on an unfortunate wild animal attack. Even so, the expectation was that Michaels would soon be spending a good portion of his time in a five by eight cell.
Judge Roberts turned to the jury. “Have you reached a verdict to which you are all in agreement?”
The head juror, a stocky African American man in a suit which Rainwater thought looked just as cheap and uncomfortable as his own, stood. “We have, your honour.”
Rainwater took a deep breath, earning another concerned glance from Mackay. The head juror continued.
“For the charge of criminal damage, we find the defendants guilty.”
A murmur from the crowd was quelled by the judge as the verdicts continued to be read out.
“For the charges of obstructing justice, and endangering public safety, we find the defendants, guilty.”
Another murmur from the crowd was silenced, and although he didn’t realise it, Rainwater leaned forward on his seat.
“For the additional charge of involuntary manslaughter of Clara Thompson, we find the defendant, guilty.”
The crowd erupted, and Rainwater clenched a fist. Mackay looked at him and clapped him on the shoulder.
The judge addressed the defendants next, turning his stony gaze on them all.
“The five of you have been found guilty; a verdict which I personally feel is the right one. However, there are some things I would like to address.” He looked at Tom, Fernando, Joanne and Marie. “The four of you were, I believe, acting under immense pressure which was amplified by the influence of Mr. Michaels here, and I believe you all acted in what you thought to be, however misguided, the best interests of a creature you believed to be in danger. I have no doubt that none of you could ever know or understand the levels your friend would go to, by that I refer to Mr. Feeney and his callous actions for which he was rightly sentenced for murder. I believe that when the true scale of the events became apparent, you became scared, and were easily manipulated by Mr. Michaels to assist him in his foolish plan. For this, and taking into account the significant time you have already spent in custody, plus the remorse and guilt I truly believe you all feel, I believe the best course of action is to release you with time served and place you each under a three-year term of probation. Let it be known that even the slightest criminal act perpetrated by any of you will result in a lengthy jail term pushed to the maximum extent of the law. My reasons for this ruling, which I stress is incredibly lenient considering the circumstances of this trial, are that I believe each of you has significant skills which you can use in order to contribute to society, and that although you were misguided, I could find no callousness in your actions. Take this lesson as a valuable one. I hope never to see any of you in my courtroom again or I will ensure you will regret taking this verdict so lightly.”
He next turned to Greg, who met his stare, eyes dead and glassy. “You, Mr. Michaels, should have known better. To manipulate these young people in the way you did was something for which many people believe you should go to jail for. Indeed, I am aware of the amount of speculation and ridiculous misinformation spread by the press which has made these proceedings much harder than they had to be for all involved.My first instinct was to jail you for life in order to show you the consequences of such rash and poorly judged behaviour. However, during this trial, the evidence presented shows that you have also been through a significant amount of physical and emotional trauma, not least of which was losing your hand. There is also the very valid point that although you were present and your actions certainly didn’t help, I see no evidence of you phys
ically harming anyone, not least Clara Thompson. Eye witness testimony states that upon realising that Miss Thompson was in danger, you did all you could to assist her and save her life. It is because of this that I have taken a lenient view on your case. I believe that although grossly misguided, your intentions were, for the most part, honourable in that I believe you genuinely tried to assist Miss Thompson when she was in peril, even though it was clearly at great risk to yourself. It is because of this, and because I don’t believe you to be a callous man who would intentionally set out to have harmed Miss Thompson, and, as is the case with your fellow defendants, taking into account the amount of time already spent in custody because of the lengthy nature of the proceedings, means that I cannot in good conscience suggest a custodial sentence. The determined effort you made to rectify your mistakes along with the somewhat reckless actions of Miss Thompson in putting herself in danger in the first place despite repeated attempts by her professional colleagues not to, call for a certain amount of leniency on my behalf. It is this and only this, which leads me to deliver a verdict of guilty with time spent, meaning that you, Mr. Michaels, will walk free from this courtroom today.”
This time there was more than a murmur. The crowd erupted in chatter, and the judge was forced to break out the gavel to restore order. The room fell silent, and he continued.
“Know, Mr. Michaels that you came incredibly close to a custodial sentence here today. Very close indeed. You will be placed under a five-year probationary period alongside a series of mandatory psychological evaluations in order asses your mental state and give you the help you need. I hope all of you understand how fortunate you are, and I remind each of you that if I am to see any of you in this court again, you will be sentenced to the maximum extent of the law. Case dismissed.”