Megalodon Riptide

by Watts, Russ

  MEGALODON RIPTIDE

  Russ Watts

  Copyright 2017 by Russ Watts

  “But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books, is the secret lore of the ocean.”

  From “The White Ship” by H.P.Lovecraft

  CHAPTER 1

  “Pippa, hurry up, we have to go,” I shouted. “Get your stuff together and haul ass.”

  I looked at Chelsea and tried to not give away how nervous I was. The building was creaking and groaning as if it would give way any moment. You could feel it swaying, and the wind howling outside made me shiver. Time was not on our side. I was no architect but even I knew we had to get out.

  “It’s okay Uncle, don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” said Chelsea calmly.

  I don’t know how she did it. Pippa’s kid was barely sixteen, yet she had more sense than any of us. She rarely freaked out and never threw a tantrum. She was smart, too. It was such a shame she would never get the chance to go to university and realize just how damn smart she really was. That sort of life stopped with my generation. There are no universities to go to anymore. I looked at my niece and wondered how she managed to remain so cool when the building was collapsing around us. I looked into her brown eyes.

  “Yeah, as long as your mother gets her ass out here in the next five seconds. If she doesn’t, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Pippa hurried into the corridor, closing the front door behind her. She had a backpack slung across her shoulders and flushed cheeks. She looked at me with those big brown eyes of hers that reminded me of mom. “Ready?”

  “Pippa, we’ve been ready for five minutes. You were supposed to have your getaway bag packed and good to go. What took you so long?” I asked, frustrated. We all had an emergency bag by our beds, just in case. Mine was full of food and bottled water, some clothes and a few keepsakes. I had a few things that I wanted to keep: some photographs, a silver chain that had belonged to mom, and a couple of books. I couldn’t understand how Pippa could be so disorganized. I suspected that hers consisted of half-eaten chocolate and jewelry. My sister had never been the organized type, but just lately she had gotten worse. Even Chelsea had been ready to go. I don’t really blame her. I think what happened shook us all up. Pippa tried to hide how scared she was but I could tell. Chelsea too.

  “I had to grab a few things,” said Pippa. “It’s fine, Luke. Besides, how do you even know he’ll be here yet? You said yourself that you couldn’t see the boat, so why are you so sure that he’ll turn up?”

  “He will. He’ll be here. I told you that he—”

  “And what about Manny? I don’t see him,” said Pippa looking up and down the corridor. “You told him we were leaving, right, so where is he? I don’t see you nagging him to hurry up.”

  “I told you before, we’re meeting Manny up on the roof. He’ll be there. In fact, he’s probably waiting for us, so if you’ll just hurry the hell up we can all get out of here. Jeez, could you be any more like mom?”

  Pippa frowned at me. I knew I shouldn’t have said it, but she was beginning to get on my nerves. The comparison to mom wasn’t flattering, yet nor was it a lie. She got more and more like her every day. As much as I loved my sister, the building was still creaking and groaning, and I wasn’t sure we had much time left. I watched as Pippa fished her keys out of her pocket and then turned to the front door. As she shoved the key into the lock, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  “Pippa, what the hell are you doing?” I snapped.

  “Mom, you don’t need to do that,” said Chelsea. “We’re not coming back.”

  “And what about all our things? I’m not leaving them for old Mr. Johnson to steal. You know what he’s like. Crotchety old bastard.”

  Chelsea looked at me and rolled her eyes as her mother locked the door. I almost burst out laughing except out situation was so dire that if I did I thought I might not stop.

  “Pippa, leave it,” I said. “Mr. Johnson isn’t that bad. And I think he’s got more pressing things to worry about than our old TV that hasn’t worked for five years and your granny pants.”

  Pippa drew herself up and put an arm around her daughter. “Luke, don’t try to tell me what to do.”

  She sounded just like mom when she did that. I was quite sure that soon she was simply going to turn into her. Mom had passed away ten years ago, but I still saw some of her in Pippa every day. She had the same short haircut that ringed her neck, the same funny walk, and the same tone in her voice when she was trying to get me to shut up.

  “I’m just saying that we need to go,” I said to Pippa. “I don’t want to be here arguing about Mr. Johnson when this building goes down. And neither do you.”

  “So let’s go already,” interjected Chelsea. “We don’t want to be stuck inside here when it goes like the hotel did.” Chelsea put her fingers together and then splayed them apart slowly, making a whooshing noise with her mouth.

  We all knew what Chelsea meant. We’d watched it together in horror barely four weeks ago. The Stamford had stood for well over a hundred years. It was a huge ornate building complete with art deco sculptures adorning the exterior, and decorative cornices and balconies on each upper floor. It was a magnificent building that had seen off two world wars and more Presidents than I could name. I think there were close to fifty people living in it when it happened. We had all heard the stories of buildings collapsing into the ocean before, but none of us had actually witnessed it with our own eyes. It sounded unreal, too far-fetched to be true, even though the ocean was all around us now. The streets and roads had long ago been submerged by water and so the lower floors too of all the cities’ apartments and buildings were under water. The foundations of the Stamford had been weaker, perhaps because it was such a grand old building. We all heard the groaning sounds it made as it began to list. It had taken a few hours and none of us really thought it was going to go. I remember sitting up on the rooftop of our own complex with Pippa, watching it. The building had listed over a few hours. I saw a couple of occupants get out. A man and a woman. They had a small dinghy and used it to sail away to God knows where. I guess they must have kept it to themselves because they could have fitted another ten people on that little boat.

  The others in the hotel converged on the rooftop when the building began to list so badly that they could barely stand upright anymore. There was nothing we could do. The building was across the street from us and too far away to reach. We had no ropes, no boats, nothing to help them with. At first it was only me and Pippa up there, but soon the whole complex joined us. There was old Mr. Johnson and Manny from the floor beneath us. There were half a dozen others who I recognized, but we had little to do with them. They kept to themselves for most of the time. We all lived within a few floors of each other, yet we didn’t even know their names. And we all stood on the top of our complex watching fifty people die. It was a communal experience that should have brought us together. After it was over I hardly saw any of them again. It was as if it had driven us further apart.

  I shouted to the few survivors, my voice carrying easily across the water. I tried to make them understand that they should swim toward us, but none of them did. I don’t think any of them truly expected it to go. In the end it was quick.

  The hotel eventually just collapsed in on itself. The lower floors pancaked and within seconds it was gone. A unique piece of history was gone when the hotel disappeared beneath the water. The people on the rooftop pleaded for help and tried to swim away, but they stood no chance. The water sucked them down with the hotel. I waited longer than the others, in case anyone resurfaced, but nobody did. Not a single one.

  After that, I think some of the people in our own complex left. People were desperate.
I heard them at night, banging and making their makeshift boats. I could understand it, but there was no way we were going out there like that. I had a better deal on the table.

  A week after that horrible day I was awoken in the morning by a crashing sound. It was far enough away for me to know it wasn’t our own building, but still, it had me panicked. When I pulled the drapes back it took a moment for me to accept what I was seeing. My bedroom window looked out over the city and the spires of St.Patrick’s Cathedral were clearly visible – but no longer. The glass skyscraper beside it had been burnt out long ago, and all around it were derelict buildings. That morning I saw more decayed masonry and debris in the water than normal, and the cathedral had finally succumbed to the sea. I couldn’t tell if the spires had crumbled or if the foundations had caused the whole building to subside. I thought I spotted one of the spires still breaching the surface, but I couldn’t be certain. The Rockefeller was already under water and most of the familiar landmarks I had grown up with were gone. Every time we lost another one, I felt like the sea was claiming a part of me too. I guess I thought the cathedral would be there forever. It was hard to accept it was gone. All around me it felt like the city was falling.

  What happened to the Stamford was in all of our minds now, even though nobody was saying it. We all knew how quickly it could happen. We all knew that we had to leave, which was why it was so frustrating waiting for Pippa.

  Chelsea took off down the corridor toward the stairwell and Pippa pushed past me to follow her. The elevators had stopped working months ago so the stairwell was the only way out of the building now. The lower five floors of our complex were under water and the upper ten floors were damp but fine. We had sandbags on the sixth floor but only in winter did the water threaten to climb any higher. It seemed to have reached a plateau recently. So the few of us still living inside stayed on the upper floors, well away from the damp and the cold water that sloshed around the bottom of the building. The once white walls of the corridors were a creamy gray now, and damp had crept up the sides and across the ceiling. It spread like a cancer, insidiously eating away at everything, destroying the plasterboard and electrics, weakening the walls and eating at the decaying air. The smell was bad. We didn’t leave our apartment often and I’d forgotten just how musty the air was. As I followed Pippa and Chelsea, I couldn’t help but feel bad about Mr. Johnson. He lived alone and had nobody looking out for him. Everyone else in the complex had taken off on their own. I tried to make conversation with him occasionally, but Pippa was right: he was a crotchety old bastard. I wasn’t sure that meant we should leave him to die.

  I banged on his door as we went past. “Mr. Johnson, you up? It’s Luke from next door. Mr. Johnson?”

  I could feel Pippa’s glare from twenty yards away, so I stared at Mr. Johnson’s door. The pale blue paint was covered in a fine film and as I trailed my finger down it some of the paint came off on my fingers. Our building was rotting from the inside out. I heard shuffling noises behind the door and then the sound of several locks being tangled with. Finally, he opened the door.

  “What?”

  Mr. Johnson stood before me looking older than I remembered. His thin brown hair was disheveled and it looked as if I had woken him up. He wore a simple beige sweater and slacks that were at least two sizes too big for him. Dirty brown moccasins completed his ensemble that suggested he hadn’t bothered to change in weeks. I was certain that he had been wearing the same thing when I had last seen him up on the roof. The smell emanating from him and his apartment suggested the same.

  “Mr. Johnson, we’re leaving and I think it’s time you did the same. The building is not safe. We have a boat coming to get us and—”

  “This is my home, young man. Grace died here and I‘ll die here with her. Her ashes have sat on my mantelpiece for eight years and I’ll be damned if I’m leaving her now. I’m not abandoning her or my apartment just like that, on a whim. The building is perfectly safe. Leave me alone.”

  As he closed the door, I jammed my foot quickly into the frame to stop him from closing it on me. I knew that if he got that door shut he wouldn’t open it again.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, surprised.

  “Mr. Johnson, I’m serious. The complex is going to collapse, just like the Stamford.”

  I saw fear in his eyes. There was defiance too and I could see he hated how frail he had become. There was a rumor he used to be a cop, although none of us knew the truth about his past. The mentioning of the Stamford seemed to make him pause.

  “Garbage. There’s nothing wrong with this place.”

  I put my hand on the door and got him to open it a few more inches. There were piles and piles of books behind him and his apartment was dark. I don’t think he had opened the windows in weeks. I wished his apartment only smelt of damp, but there were other smells that I didn’t even want to imagine where they had come from.

  “Listen to it. Listen to me. Please. I’m offering you a chance to get out of here. If I’m wrong, then in a few hours we can all come back and laugh about it. But if I’m right—”

  He looked me up and down, and then opened the door a little more. I removed my foot from the doorway as he poked his head into the corridor. “Your sister and her little brat with you?”

  I sighed. “Yes, sir. We’re all leaving, right now.” I looked at Pippa and Chelsea. They were by the stairwell waiting for me. Chelsea patiently, Pippa impatiently. “There’s room for you too, if you want.”

  Mr. Johnson glanced at me. “No. At least with you gone this place will be quieter and I’ll be able to get some sleep. Leave me alone.”

  He slammed the door shut before I had a chance to grab it. I heard him closing it up, sliding the bolts back into place, and I knew I had lost him. I trudged toward Pippa.

  “See? Stupid old man would rather die here than accept our help,” said Pippa. She tried to sound condescending, as if she knew he would say no. I could tell she was just trying to sound confident though. She wasn’t a bad person and she didn’t want him to die alone any more than I did.

  “Come on, we can’t force him. What are you going to do, break down his door?” Chelsea pushed the fire exit open and we moved into the stairwell. She was right. I hated leaving him, but what could I do? He was too stubborn to listen to me or anyone else. The only person he ever listened to, Grace, had died years ago.

  “I hate this place,” muttered Pippa as we began to climb the dark stairs.

  There was no light to see by and I reached into my backpack for a torch. I wound the handle around and generated enough power to give off a little light. It was weak but at least it didn’t need batteries. I’d bought it a few years back after a particularly bad storm and never had reason to use it before. I was pleased we had it now though, as without any natural light in the stairwell, we would’ve only had the handrail to guide us. The electricity had failed a long time ago and there were no windows. The water had filled the bottom of the stairwell and we could smell the salt water. I hated it too. It was a dark, dank, horrible place. The sound of the water sloshing around fifty feet below us echoed around the concrete stairwell. I wondered what else was down there. In the darkness it was easy to imagine all sorts of things: dead bodies, electric eels, mutant fish and creatures from the deep just waiting to nibble on our carcasses. My torchlight illuminated the way ahead but scarcely reached more than a few feet. I tried to point it upward so Chelsea could see.

  “Just keep close,” said Chelsea. “We’re almost there.”

  A little light began to illuminate the stairs as we climbed higher. The door to the rooftop was propped open, something I’d done after the hotel had been destroyed. I used an old pedal-bin from the kitchen. We had no use for it anymore but it found a new lease of life as a doorstop. We’d decided it was safer to leave it open, in case we needed a quick escape. The sunlight slipped between the door and the frame, and as the light levels in the stairwell rose, so too did our prospects of g
etting out alive. I flicked off my torch and stowed it back in my pack.

  Chelsea shoved the door open and stepped out onto the roof. Glorious sunlight hit my face and I sucked in fresh air. If there was one upside to the end of the world it was that the streets of New York were no longer clogged with traffic spewing out toxic fumes. The air was clean and pure, and even the sun felt fresher. I followed Pippa out onto the roof and was pleased to see Manny had beaten us to it.

  “How you doing?” I could see that he was prepared and had brought some gear with him too. There was a small, black sports bag at his feet and even better, a six-pack of beer. Manny was the only person in the complex we had managed to make friends with. He used to be a chef at some sushi place around the corner. He was ridiculously handsome and I suspected that Chelsea had a crush on him. He was twelve years older than her, but something told me that wouldn’t stop her, given the chance. Of course, I had no intention of letting her date anyone for several years yet. She was only sixteen and in my head still tottering around the living room as she learnt how to walk.

  “Luke, ‘bout time, man.” Manny grasped my hand firmly. His dark skin shone in the sunlight and he beamed, despite the danger we were in. “I was just ‘bout gonna give up on you.”

  “How’s it going, Manny?” asked Pippa.

  He kissed her cheek and looked at Chelsea. “My two favorite ladies in the world. How lucky am I?”

  I noticed Chelsea blush but said nothing.

  “You see him?” I asked hopefully. “Any sign of the boat?”

  Manny looked to the east wistfully. “No. Nothing.”

  “You said he would be here,” snapped Pippa. “What if he doesn’t come? He could be miles away. What if..?”

  “He’ll come,” I insisted. Jonah wouldn’t let us down. He was a good friend and probably the most reliable person in the world. “Let’s get ready. He’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it.”