Sam laughed aloud. “Don’t sweat it!” he yelled back. “Let me get on the trolling motor and I’ll come get you!”
“Sounds good,” Garm replied, stopping to spit out seawater and catch his breath. He realized he was still wearing the cumbersome fighting belt and bucket harness and the added resistance was exhausting. He began to tread water, watching as Sam stepped on the foot pedal of the bow-mounted electric and started inching toward him. Garm laughed and splashed atop a swell as he waited for his ride. “Some fishing trip,” he chortled. “But hey, at least I got to cool off!”
Sam’s amused reply was lost and Garm realized he could no longer hear him. His sight, hearing, sense of smell and touch . . . all his senses were suddenly focused elsewhere as a chill ran up his spine. He’d felt an unmistakable shift in the nearby sea, a pressure wave generated by something moving through the water. Whatever it was, it was directly underneath him. And it was big.
As the hair on the back of his neck pricked up, Garm decided free-styling it back to the approaching Idle Worship was a good idea after all, heavy gear notwithstanding.
He was twenty yards away when Sam spotted the fish’s shadow.
“Jesus . . .” he said, his eyes bugging out of his head. “Garm, there’s something following you. Whatever it is, it’s gigantic! Swim faster, brother!”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Garm panted, snorting irritably as he stroked with all his might.
Ten yards away, Sam abandoned the trolling motor and moved to start the boat’s big outboard instead. He mouthed a prayer as he turned the key. “Come on, Braddock!” he shouted. “Move your overgrown ass!”
With a surge of adrenaline, Garm reached the boat and threw one arm up over the gunnels, looping it over the low railing and holding on for dear life. The wind kicked up and the swells caused Idle Worship’s hull to roll up and back, yanking him half out of the water and preventing him from grabbing on with his other hand.
Sam wasted no time. In a second he was there, reaching down and latching onto the waterlogged bucket harness that cradled Garm’s buttocks, with the intention of hauling him over the side like a gaffed fish.
“For the record,” Sam grunted as he heaved upward. “This does not count as me grabbing your ass!”
Garm’s chuckle became a groan of pain as he felt the bite.
It was a sharp stabbing sensation, like someone jammed a drawer of steak knives into his thigh, coupled with so much pressure he’d have sworn someone just parked a Buick on his leg. He had a brief glimpse of Sam’s stunned face; reflected in his horrified eyes was something huge and silvery clinging to him. A moment later, Garm was torn violently away and pulled under.
This time there was no opportunity to take a breath. His world became a churning azure canvas, choked with bubbles. Water flooded his lungs and he clamped his jaw tight, desperately trying to hold onto what air he could. His chest burned and he felt himself being swung helplessly back and forth, his limbs trailing like a stuffed animal’s. He felt the pain in his leg increase exponentially as the bite tripled in force. He started to panic.
Then he saw the fish.
It was a full-grown Xiphactinus, a big male, judging from the hump that decorated its misshapen head, and measured over twenty feet in length. With the exception of the captive pliosaur on display in Oceanus, it was the largest marine predator he’d ever seen in the flesh, the size of a full grown great white shark.
Garm caught a glimpse of the Bulldog fish’s ivory teeth and its amber-colored eye before it shook him and bit down once more. Waves of agony enveloped him and he fought to remain conscious. Panic pounded on his door and epinephrine flooded his bloodstream. Everything started moving in slow motion. His supercharged mind switched to survival mode and, with surprising calmness, he took stock of the situation.
The Xiphactinus had hit him from the side and had his right hip, buttocks, and a good portion of his thigh sandwiched in its two-foot-wide maw. He could feel its blade-like teeth, up to six inches long, embedded in his flesh. The fish’s eyes blazed with fury as it felt him struggle and it shook him like a terrier shakes a rat. It was trying to drown its prey before swallowing it whole.
Despite the waves of agony that shot like jolts of electricity through his ass and leg, Garm realized he’d been lucky to not discard the bulky fighting belt. The padded material from the bucket harness had done little to stop the X-fish’s teeth; its fangs were buried to the hilt in his muscular rump. But the metal plate and padding of the sturdy fighting belt had prevented its formidable dentition from slicing open his groin and pelvis. It could easily have punctured his femoral artery.
Or worse, castrated him.
As the ravenous fish adjusted its grip, Garm realized his luck was running out. Dark blood was spurting from his wounds, forming an ugly crimson cloud that obscured his already blurred vision. His right leg was in agony – undoubtedly broken – and the water that invaded his lungs was slowly killing him. He couldn’t hold his breath much longer; once he opened his mouth he was a dead man.
Still, Garm refused to give up. The warrior in him got up off the canvas and fought back. With a snarl of defiance, he lunged for the fish’s monstrous head. His hands impacted on its hard, slimy skull as he punched, clawed and gouged. He managed to graze one of its luminescent eyes, but any damage his fingers did to the thick-walled orb was summarily ignored.
Garm’s furious attack was short lived. His arms began to grow heavy, increasing in weight until each seemed a ton or more. Soon, he could no longer lift them and his struggles began to fade. He gazed upward. The water’s surface was so close, the shimmering daylight but a few feet away. He reached for it, his unfeeling fingers following the twisting paths of his escaping air bubbles. It was useless. He could feel the darkness welling up to claim him.
A bloodcurdling cry and a lean shadow sailing overhead distracted Garm from the encroaching blackness and his eyes struggled to refocus. There was a tremendous splash a few yards away and he gaped in astonishment.
Sam had come to the rescue. Hefting the six-foot, aluminum and steel harpoon they kept onboard like a spear, the fearless LifeGiver had perched on the bow casting deck, waiting for his chance. When he saw it, he’d done the Tarzan thing; springing into the air above the feeding Xiphactinus, he brought the harpoon down with all his weight and strength, driving it through the shallow layer of water that separated them.
And plunging it through the Bulldog fish’s back.
The skewered Xiphactinus went insane. Its fanged jaws opened wide and it spat out its pending meal. Flailing back and forth, it snapped furiously at the shiny metal rod that had been driven through its barrel-shaped body. A moment later, the stricken predator sped off, its six-foot tail churning the water behind it into froth and sending both Garm and his would-be rescuer spinning head over heels.
Expert swimmer that he was, Sam recovered quickly. In the blink of an eye, he righted himself and was at Garm’s side, pulling him to the surface through an ever-widening patch of scarlet and dragging him toward the boat.
“C’mon, Garm . . . breathe, man! Breathe!” Sam encouraged, holding on with one hand and shaking his nearly comatose friend with the other as they reached the rolling edge of Idle Worship’s hull.
At the sound of his voice, Garm’s eyelids winched themselves upward. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing but a gurgling sound came out. A moment later, he pitched forward and started vomiting uncontrollably, his battered body heaving as it expelled the seawater from his inflamed lungs. As the retching gradually subsided, the bloodied fighter’s eyes came into focus.
“Man . . . that fucking sucked,” he groaned.
Sam snorted amusedly. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be a wuss. I got you, didn’t I?”
Garm managed a weak laugh as he draped one arm atop the flats boat’s gunnels, his forearm resting on its smooth deck. “You’re lucky I’m too . . . fucked up to throw you a beating . . .” He took a moment to catch his breath t
hen looked Sam in the eye. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime, Big G. Now, do you think you can make it aboard, or do I have to rig a block and tackle to hoist your ginormous ass out of the water?”
Garm chuckled and shook his head, a mixture of seawater and blood streaming from his chestnut-colored hair and running down his face. He stuck his tongue out and tasted the salty combo. “I changed my mind . . .” he said with a grin. “I am so kicking your butt.”
“Licking my what?” Sam made a show of appearing horrified, but then his eyes turned serious as he took in the reddened water all around them. “All jokes aside, you’re in bad shape.” He grabbed onto the top of the bucket harness. “Let’s get you out of the water so we can slap a pressure bandage on those wounds. I can’t have you bleeding out on me. Your dad will kill me.”
“Sounds good . . .”
Sam’s lips tightened as he saw how pale Garm was. “Okay, grab hold and on three. One . . . two . . . and heave!”
In unison, they wrestled Garm’s heavily muscled frame up out of the water and onto Idle Worship’s foredeck. The big fighter lay on his side, drawing in deep breaths before clambering painfully to his feet. He tried putting weight on his wounded leg, winced and shook his head. If his right femur wasn’t shattered, it was hanging by a thread. Worse, blood was streaming in thick rivulets from under the badly gouged fighting belt and running down his shin. It showed no sign of stopping. A trip to the ER was definitely overdue.
“Let me help you,” Garm said wearily. Gripping the steering wheel for support, he leaned forward and extended a hand to Sam, only to stagger back as a powerful wave of wooziness nearly toppled him.
“Just stay put,” Sam instructed, reaching up with both hands. “I got this.”
Garm watched his wingman grab hold of the boat’s railing and prepare to hoist himself out of the water.
“Man, can you imagine how many babes I’m gonna hook up with when I tell them I saved a heavyweight contender from becoming fish food?” Sam smirked, his triceps jutting out as he effortlessly powered himself into a vertical position, leaving just his legs in the water. “But don’t worry, old buddy. I’m sure I can send a sympathetic nurse or two to your room to--”
Garm stared in confusion as Sam stopped talking and his eyes flew open wide. A moment later, he was yanked down with astonishing force, his chest bouncing off the hard edge of Idle Worship’s deck with an impact sufficient to splinter bone. The LifeGiver’s grin was a distant memory, his expression one of pain and shock as he desperately wrapped his arms around the boat’s thin aluminum railing.
A second later, he choked in a huge breath and screamed. It was one of those piercing, high-pitched shrieks – the kind a dying animal makes.
As the boat’s portside began to dip, Garm realized what had happened. Sam’s weight alone couldn’t upend the heavy, 19-foot flats boat. Something sizable had gotten ahold of him.
“It’s got my legs!” he screamed.
Ignoring the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him and the blood gushing from his wounds, Garm staggered to the gunnels. What he saw sent a tidal wave of fear cresting up his spine.
A Xiphactinus had grabbed Sam’s dangling legs, engulfing them to mid-thigh. He could see the silvery fish through the algae-stained water. It was smaller than the one that attacked him, but at a solid twelve feet still tipped the scales at over one thousand pounds. It was on its side, just under the surface, its spiky teeth embedded in its terrified prey.
“You gotta help me!” Sam shrieked. “Get it off me!”
Garm cast about, desperately searching for a means to dislodge the aggressive Bulldog fish. As he snatched up a nearby gaff, Sam’s body began to convulse. The fish started shaking its huge head from side to side, attempting to dislodge him. Sam screamed again and again as its powerful jaws tore huge rents in his quadriceps and hamstrings, cutting him to the bone. In an instant, the water around them churned a bright red.
“Get the fuck off!” Garm bellowed. Fighting to stay focused, he dropped to one knee and started swinging the four-foot aluminum tool like a war hammer. The sound of his powerful blows resounded off the surrounding water, but did little to deter the thick-scaled carnivore. Even when the gaff’s five-inch steel hook sank deep into its head, the tenacious fish shrugged it off.
“I can’t hold on much longer!” Sam cried out. As if on cue, the X-fish began to thrash powerfully to and fro. Pulling backwards, it nearly tore Sam’s hands from the railing.
Garm cursed and tossed the useless gaff aside. He spotted the fillet knife he’d dropped on the deck nearby and his eyes lit up. That was what he needed. As he started hobbling toward it, however, he heard a sound that stopped him cold.
Idle Worship’s railing was giving way.
With an eerie creak, the shiny aluminum tubing buckled, the screws holding it to the portside deck popping free one by one. Garm forgot the knife and spun back around. Crouching down and wrapping his arms under Sam’s, he grabbed him in a bear hug and held on, just before the railing tore free.
“Oh, no you . . . don’t!” Garm snarled as the Bulldog pit its power against his. Despite the waves of pain radiating through his own, horrifically injured leg, he dropped into a full squat, his friend clutched tightly to his chest. The hungry fish was furious at being denied its meal and resumed tearing away at its victim. Sam screamed piteously as his thigh muscles were repeatedly shredded by the creature’s blade-filled maw.
“Don’t let it take me!” he pleaded. Tears streamed down his face and his arms flailed helplessly.
“No fucking way!” Garm swore as he waged a tug-o-war against his oversized opponent. He gave a mighty heave and realized, what remained of his considerable strength, combined with the X-fish’s neutral buoyancy, gave him a momentary advantage. He had Sam’s entire torso up over the gunnels and a section of the fish’s massive head sticking out of the water.
As he felt the LifeGiver’s blood stream onto his sandaled feet, however, Garm panicked. Fatigue hit him like a brick over the head and waves of nausea began wracking his powerful frame. Only dogged determination was keeping him conscious. He spotted the damage to Sam’s mutilated thighs and averted his eyes. His friend’s wounds were even worse than his own. If they didn’t get medical attention soon, they’d both bleed to death. Not that that was their most immediate concern. The fish that clung to Sam was at least four times Garm’s weight and showed no indication of letting go.
Bulldog . . . the damn thing was certainly living up to its name.
Garm resisted the urge to scream in frustration. He knew if he couldn’t kill or dislodge the Xiphactinus, it was just a matter of time before he lost consciousness and Sam was pulled under and swallowed.
Then he remembered the knife.
He could see it with his peripheral vision. It was barely three feet away, the sun glinting off its ten-inch, stainless steel blade. If he could bury it in one of the Bulldog fish’s big, amber eyes, that would surely discourage it.
“Hang on,” Garm croaked. As he leaned toward the fillet knife, tiny motes of light swam before his eyes. He was almost out of time. Sitting back on his haunches, he kept one arm wrapped tightly around Sam’s chest and reached for the weapon. It was just a few inches away. He gritted his teeth, his wounded hip and back screaming as he continued to bend. Just a few inches more . . .
Garm’s lips curled back in a defiant snarl as he wrapped a meaty hand around the knife’s black rubber handle. He hauled back, intent on driving it into the Xiphactinus’s brain.
He was in mid-strike when the other fish surfaced.
Like chrome-colored torpedoes, a pair of ten-foot Bulldogs exploded up and out of the water, their fanged jaws gaping. With wet, chomping sounds, they engulfed Sam’s dangling arms almost to the shoulders and bit down hard. If the lifeguard’s screams of pain and terror were loud before, they were nothing compared to now, as a trio of toothy terrors feasted on his flesh.
Garm nearly lost it as the resis
tance he’d been battling doubled. The arm he had wrapped around Sam began to buckle, and he had no choice but to drop the fillet knife and resume bear-hugging him. He leaned back and held on for dear life, watching with disgust as the knife skittered along the off-angled deck and vanished into the water.
“Jesus . . . they-they’re killing me!” Sam screamed.
Garm gasped as his feet suddenly slipped out from under him and his ass hit the deck hard. Waves of agony shot up his spine until his skull felt like it would explode. He hissed in pain as he felt the shorn railing cutting into his calves and his heart plummeted into his stomach. They were both sliding down the bloodied deck, heading straight for the sea of jaws that waited to tear them to pieces.
“Just . . . just let me go!” Sam cried weakly. “Save yourself! I’m done!”
Garm gritted his teeth, “Like hell you are.”
Fighting through a haze of pain, he gave the nearest Xiphactinus a savage kick and then braced both heels against the two-inch lip at the edge of the boat’s wildly swaying deck. He uttered a guttural roar of defiance and pulled back with all his strength. Sam’s screams were starting to subside as blood streamed from all four of his limbs, spraying across the already-soaked deck and trickling into the sea. Garm glanced at the wine-colored water and spotted the fins of at least a half-dozen other Bulldog fish circling nearby. The smell of blood had driven them into a feeding frenzy.
As the three fish clinging to Sam like pit bulls continued to lash from side to side, Garm found it was all he could do to hang on. He was running on pure adrenaline and it wouldn’t last. His strength was already beginning to fade. Once his grip broke it was over. He growled angrily and looked around, frantically trying to find a way to keep his best friend from being ripped apart before his eyes.
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