by Alten-Steve
And then, as she approached the waters off Baja, her senses had become overwhelmed by the pounding of tens of thousands of beating hearts and moving muscles. The female went into a frenzy, her predatory instincts driving her to the north, into the Monterey Canyon.
The hydrothermal vents along the floor of the canyon seemed familiar. The turbidity currents and temperatures of the gorge approximated those of the Mariana Trench. Territorial by nature, the sixty-foot female claimed the area as her new home, an expanse of ocean awarded by her mere presence as supreme hunter. Her senses indicated that no other adult Megalodons were in the area to challenge her rule. The territory therefore became hers to defend.
For three hours, the predator had been stalking the blue whale and its calf. Vibrations detected by the Megalodon's lateral line indicated that the smaller creature would be vulnerable to an attack. Still, the female waited, preferring to keep her distance. Now totally blind in her right eye, she would not risk surfacing while any traces of daylight remained.
And so she trailed her prey, waiting impatiently for nightfall in order to surface, and feed again.
RED TRIANGLE
Anchored in six hundred feet of water, the Magnate bobbed gently as the last golden flecks of sunlight reflected from the sea. On the main deck of the yacht, her weary crew watched as thousands of California seals and sea lions stretched out upon the rocky, uninhabited landmass of the Farallons.
When Maggie learned that Jonas had predicted the Megalodon would eventually end up in California waters, she wasted no time in organizing her expedition to the Farallon Islands. The Farallons were the center point of an expanse of ocean known as the Red Triangle. Of all the documented attacks by great whites worldwide, over half occurred here. If Jonas's prediction proved accurate, Maggie figured that the Megalodon would waste little time in coming to the center of the Red Triangle to hunt sea lions, the preferred prey of the great white shark.
For five straight days, the film crew had waited impatiently for the Megalodon to show itself. Underwater video cameras, audio equipment, and special underwater lights littered the ship's deck, along with cigarette butts and candy wrappers. A community laundry line had been hung along the upper deck, dangling swimsuits, underwear, and shorts.
Now the long hours of boredom, the constant sun, and the occasional nausea associated with seasickness had finally gotten to the crew. Miles of chum had been ladled into the sea, attracting several smaller sharks, preventing the Magnate 's passengers from even cooling off with a quick dip. And yet, even these conditions would have been tolerable had it not been for the overwhelming stench that hung thick in the November air.
Trailing the yacht on a thirty-foot steel cable floated the rotting carcass of a male humpback whale. The pungent smell seemed to hover over the Magnate as if to mark the crime, for killing a whale in Monterey Bay Sanctuary was indeed a criminal act. No matter: with his financial influence, Bud had made a deal with two local fishermen to locate and deliver a whale carcass to their location, no questions asked. But now, after nearly thirty-eight hours of the wicked stench, the Magnate 's crew were ready to mutiny.
"Maggie, Maggie, listen to me," begged her director, Rodney Miller. "You've gotta give us a break here. Twenty-four hours of shore leave, that's all I'm requesting. It could be weeks, months before this Megalodon even ventures into these waters. All of us need a break, even a fresh shower would be heaven. Just get us off this smelly barge."
"Rod, listen to me. This is the story of the decade, and I'm not about to blow it because you and your cronies feel the need to get drunk in some sleazy hotel bar."
"Come on, Maggie—"
"No, Rod. Have you any idea how difficult it was to organize all of this? The cameras? The shark tube? Not to mention that hunk of whale blubber floating behind us?"
"Yeah, don't mention it," he said sarcastically. "What ever happened to your campaign for protecting the whales? Gee, I would have sworn that was you I saw onstage accepting a Golden Eagle on behalf of the Save the Whales Foundation."
"Christ, Rod, grow up, will you? I didn't kill the fucking whale. I'm just using its carcass as bait. Look around you: there are thousands of the goddamn things migrating into the sanctuary, as if you hadn't noticed. Get real. Can't you see that this may be the biggest story of the decade?" She shook her head, her blond hair sticking to her bare shoulders.
"Maggs." Rod lowered his voice. "You're grasping at straws. Honestly, what're the chances of the Megalodon actually showing up in the Red Triangle? No one's even reported seeing the thing in the last two weeks."
"Listen, Rod, if there's one subject my good-for-nothing husband knows about, it's these Megalodons. The Meg will show, believe me, and we'll be the ones to get the exclusive pictures."
"In what, that piece of plastic. Christ, Maggie, you'd have to be suicidal—"
"That plastic is three-inch-thick Plexiglas. Its diameter is too wide for even the Meg to get its mouth on." Maggie laughed. "I'll probably be safer in there than you guys will be on the Magnate."
"There's a comforting thought."
Maggie ran her fingers across her director's sweaty chest. She knew Bud was still in bed, sleeping off another hangover.
"Rod, you and I have worked very hard together on these projects. Hell, look how much good our whale documentary did for those beasts."
Rod smirked. "Tell that one to your dead humpback."
"Forget that already, damnit." She grabbed his oily shoulders in her hands. "Rod, don't you get it? This is the one! This is the story that puts both of us on top. Both of us. How does executive producer sound to you?"
Miller thought for a moment, then smiled. "Sounds good."
"It's yours. Now, can we forget about the dead whale for a moment?"
"I guess so. But listen, as your executive producer I highly recommend we do something to create a little diversion, because your film crew's losing patience."
"I agree, and I've got an idea. I've been wanting to do a test run on the shark tube. What do you say we get it into the water and I'll shoot some footage this evening."
"Hmmm, now that's not a bad idea. That'll give me a chance to position the underwater lights." He smiled. "Maybe you'll be able to get some nice footage of a great white. That alone could be worth the trip."
Maggie shook her head. "See, that's your problem, Rodney my love. It's why you'd better stick with me if you ever want to get anywhere in this business." She gave him a motherly pat on the cheek. "You think way too small."
Bending over to pick up her wet suit, she rewarded Miller with a glimpse of her tanned, thronged behind. "One other thing, Rod. Do me a favor and don't mention anything to Bud about being my executive producer." She smiled sweetly. "He gets jealous."
LIFE AND DEATH
As the thousands of beating hearts and pulsing fins continued to overload the Megalodon's sensory array, the albino creature gently ascended to the surface. Darkness had finally fallen.
The hunter quickly closed the distance to the calf. The mother blue stopped feeding, detecting the danger approaching rapidly from behind. She rose to the surface and forcefully nudged her young to remain in tight formation. Mother and offspring propelled their bodies faster, less than a mile separating them from the jaws of their pursuer.
Minutes later, the female had closed to within striking distance. Jaws agape, the Megt aimed for the smaller fluke, careful not to venture too close to the larger mammal's tail. And then, just as she was about to strike, something happened.
The Megalodon shook wildly, her back arching in an uncontrollable spasm. She abandoned her prey, descending rapidly to the canyon floor. Her muscular body quivered and she began swimming in tight circles, her internal organs twitching out of control. And then, with a mighty shudder that shook her entire frame, a fully developed Megalodon pup emerged from its mother's left oviduct.
It was a male, pure white and eight feet long, already weighing fifteen hundred pounds. The teeth were smaller but sh
arper than its mother's. With its senses fully developed, the newborn was fully capable of hunting and surviving on its own. It hovered momentarily, icy-blue eyes focused on the adult, instinct warning the pup of imminent danger. With a burst of speed, it glided south along the canyon floor.
Still circling in convulsions, the female shuddered again, expelling a second pup, tail-first, out of it womb. This time a female, larger than its sibling by three feet. The pup shot past its mother, barely avoiding a mortal, reflexive bite from the jaws of its uncaring parent.
With one last convulsion, the Meg birthed her final pup in a cloud of blood and embryonic fluid. The runt of the litter, the seven-and-a-half-foot male twisted toward the bottom, righted itself, then shook its head to clear its vision.
With a flick of her caudal fin, the Meg pounced upon her newborn from behind, severing its entire caudal fin and genitals as she snapped her jaws shut. Convulsing wildly and trailing a stream of blood, the dying pup writhed to the bottom, out of control. Giving immediate chase, the female finished her offspring in one last bite.
The Megalodon hovered near the bottom, exhausted from the efforts of labor. Opening her mouth, she permitted the canyon's current to circulate through her mouth and over her body, allowing her gills to breathe. Slowly, the head rotated for side to side, nostrils flaring, channeling water. Now the predator could "see" the sanctuary through her olfactory senses.
Once again, the female detected the maddening vibrations of the migrating whales, and something else — blood! The Megalodon swung her caudal fin back and forth, regaining her momentum and rising. She resumed her northerly movement, passing within thirty feet of the concrete canal entrance that connected the Tanaka Lagoon with the Pacific Ocean.
VISITORS
They came without warning, catching the disgruntled crew of the Magnate completely by surprise. Captain Talbott spotted the lead-gray dorsal fin first, slicing through the dark waters of the Pacific twenty feet off the starboard side of the yacht. Within several minutes, two more fins appeared, cutting back and forth through the slick of bloody chum.
Rod Miller found Maggie already pulling on her luminescent white wet suit for the night dive.
"Okay, Maggie, you wanted some action. How about a test dive with three great whites?"
"Relax, Rodney." Maggie was smiling. "Is everyone ready?"
"Both remotes are in the water, underwater lights are on, and the plastic tube is all set for you. Oh yeah, Bud's still asleep."
"Sounds good. Now remember, I want it to look like I'm all alone in the water with the sharks. How much cable is attached to my tube?"
Rod thought. "I'm guessing you've got about sixty or seventy feet of line, but we'll keep you in around forty feet or you'll lose the light."
"Okay, I'm ready," she announced. "Grab my camera, Rod, I want to be in the water before Bud wakes up."
Maggie and Rod hurried to the starboard side where the plastic shark cylinder awaited. Ten feet long, twelve feet in diameter, the container had been custom-made for Maggie from a design originally developed in Australia. Unlike a steel-mesh shark cage, the shark tube could not be bitten or bent. It would maintain positive buoyancy at forty feet, and it afforded the photographer an unobstructed view. The cylinder was attached by a steel cable to a winch on board the Magnate.
Secured to the Magnate 's hull were two remote-controlled underwater cameras that would be operated on deck. While Maggie was filming the Megalodon, the crew would be filming Maggie. If the lighting worked properly, the shark tube would remain invisible in the water, giving the appearance of Maggie exposed and alone in the water with the sharks.
Maggie positioned her face mask, checking to make sure she was receiving an adequate supply of oxygen. She had been diving for ten years now, though rarely at night. The practice would do her good.
The tube was already overboard, its vent holes allowing water to fill and sink the container. Stepping on top of the tube with her right flipper, holding the steel cable with her right hand for support, she took a quick glance around to confirm the location of her subjects. Satisfied she was not about to be attacked, Maggie pulled her other leg over the guardrail. Squatting on the edge of the tube, she reached back to receive the forty-pound camera from Rod. Allowing the bulky casing to drop through the opening first, Maggie slipped into the water, pulled the hatch closed above her, and sank into the center of the plastic tube.
The current was moving away from the yacht. Miller and another crewman let out the steel cable slowly, watching as the tube slipped underwater and drifted out to sea.
"Stop it at forty feet, Joseph," instructed Miller. "Peter, how're your remotes functioning?"
Peter Arnold looked up from his dual monitors. "Remote A is a little sluggish, but we'll get by. Remote B is perfect. I can zoom right up on her — too bad she didn't wear her thong."
Maggie shivered from the potent combination of adrenaline and fifty-eight-degree water. Her world was now shades of grays and blacks, visibility poor. She glanced behind, locating the two remotes and their set of lights, and as she did, they activated, lighting her plastic refuge and the surrounding waters for fifteen to twenty feet in every direction. Moments later, the first predator entered her arena.
It was a male, seventeen feet from snout to tail, going a full ton. It circled the plastic tube warily, and Maggie rotated to compensate. Her eyes detected movement from below as a fifteen-foot female rose out of the shadows, catching Maggie totally off-guard. Forgetting she was in a protective tube, she panicked, frantically kicking her fins in an effort to get away. The shark's snout banged into the bottom of the tube just as Maggie's head collided with the closed hatch above. She smiled in relief and embarrassment at her own stupidity.
Peter Arnold was also smiling. The footage was incredible, and scary as hell. Maggie appeared totally alone in the water with the three killers, and the artificial lighting combined with the white dive suit worked perfectly. The viewer would not be able to detect the protective tube.
"Rod, this is great stuff," he announced. "Our audience'll be squirming in their seats. I gotta admit it, Maggie really has a knack for the work."
Rod watched as the great whites began tearing at the humpback carcass. "Film everything, Pete. Maybe we'll be able to convince her to quit before this Megalodon actually shows up."
But Miller had a hard time believing that himself.
* * * * *
Jonas held the night binoculars with two hands, steadying them against the herky-jerky motion of the helicopter. They were following the coast southward, at an altitude of one thousand feet.
"Mac, I cant' recall ever seeing so many whales in one place," yelled Jonas.
"Who care's, Doc." Mac stared at Jonas with a burnt-out look. "We're wasting our time, and you know it. The batteries in that homing transmitter ran out days ago. The Meg could be a million miles from here."
Jonas turned back to face the ocean. He knew Mac was thinking about calling it quits, and would have days ago if it hadn't been for their friendship. He couldn't blame him. If the female were feeding in these waters, there would be traces of whale carcasses to be found. But hey had come across nothing, and now Jonas was beginning to doubt himself. Without the homing signal, they were searching for a needle in a haystack.
Mac's right, Jonas thought to himself, and for the first time in years, he felt truly alone. How many years of my life have I wasted chasing this monster? What do I have to show for it? A marriage that fell apart years ago, a struggle to make ends meet...
"Hey!" He hadn't been paying attention, though he'd been looking right at it.
"Doc, what is it?" The Meg?"
"No... maybe. Look below. The pods, Mac — notice anything different?"
Mac looked down. "They look just like they did five minutes ago... No, wait a second! They're changing course."
Jonas smiled. "They were all heading due south, but see, the pods below are veering sharply to the west."
"You thi
nk they're changing course to avoid something." Mac shook is head. "You're grasping at straws again, Doc."
"You're probably right. But just humor me one last time."
Mac looked down on the whales again from the thermal imager. If the Meg was heading north along the coast, it would be logical for the pods to avoid her.
"Okay, Doc, one last time." The helicopter spun around, changing course.
* * * * *
Maggie checked her camera, noting that she had plenty of film left and another twenty minutes of air. The shark tube was suspended just below the humpback carcass, allowing for a spectacular view. But Maggie knew footage of great whites feeding had become commonplace. She was after much more.
I'm wasting film, she thought. She turned to signal the Magnate to pull her in, then noticed something very troublesome.
The three great whites had all vanished.
* * * * *
Bud Harris kicked the silk sheets off his naked body and reached for the bottle of Jack Daniel's. Empty.
"Damnit!" He sat up, his head pounding. It had been two days and still he couldn't get rid of the nagging headache. "It's that damn whale," he said out loud. "The smell's killing me."
Bud staggered to the bathroom, picked up the bottle of aspirin, and struggled to get the childproof cap lined up correctly. "Fuck this," he yelled, and threw the bottle into the empty toilet. He looked at himself in the mirror. "You're miserable, Bud Harris," he said to his reflection. "Millionaires aren't supposed to be miserable. Talk to me, pal. Tell me why you feel this way."