Rodney distributed the lifejackets, instructing the passengers to buckle them tight. “Yes, Officer Martinez,” said Gary, accepting one and sticking his arms through it.
Rodney noticed Gary was wearing a Chicago Bears shirt. “Since when do you draw attention to yourself like that?”
“Not one person has recognized me all week,” said Gary. “I thought the anonymity would be nice, but now I’m feeling forgotten.”
“I’ll ask for your autograph later,” said Rodney. “Will that make you feel better?”
“No,” said Gary. “What would really make me feel better is catching an 80-pound giant trevally. My old teammate Ric Terry hooked a 70 pounder off the coast of Florida and he challenged me to beat his record.”
“So that’s what’s got you fired up,” said Rodney, and he chuckled. “You still got the competitive spirit.”
“I’m gonna beat his record and throw it back in his face,” declared Gary. “That would be the icing on the cake for this trip.”
“It’s been a hell of a week, hasn’t it?”
“I hate to see it end.”
“What a drag,” agreed Rodney. “Back to civilization.”
Gary maneuvered the boat southward along the coastal reefs, keeping a watchful eye on the protruding coral heads. The three-foot swells remained manageable and the outrigger handled the open ocean cleanly, despite its obvious age and rust. The center console was equipped with a GPS, radio depth gauge and assorted laminated charts.
Rodney surveyed the gear provided on the boat, a complement to the personal supplies they had brought on board, including extra rods and reels, lures, fighting belt and leader gloves. A bench seat in the back opened up to offer snorkeling equipment, such as masks and fins.
As the morning sun reached higher into the sky, burning with full strength, Carol paced the boat and encouraged the others to apply extra layers of sunscreen, offering a choice of brands and strengths.
The foursome observed two other boats in the first two hours, then none at all as they continued their way south. They sighted several dolphins and Rodney claimed to catch a glimpse of a barracuda.
“You still going to check out the forbidden zone?” Rodney asked Gary, hanging close to him, holding a beer.
“Maybe,” said Gary. “Let’s see how it goes. So far, it’s been pretty smooth. Mother Nature is cooperating.”
Their first stop took place at one of the fishing locations identified by Jamarqui at a curve along the island’s coast. Sam caught a glimpse of a dorsal fin and then Rodney spotted several large silhouettes deep in the iridescent blue. A flock of birds circled a section of water, diving for small fish driven to the surface by big underwater predators.
“Let’s go get ’em!” shouted Gary with enthusiasm.
Rodney passed out the spinning rods. He spent extra time helping to prepare Carol, who kept apologizing. “I’m sorry to be such a bother. Jake should be here, not me.”
“You’ll do fine,” Rodney assured her.
And she did. Carol caught the first fish, surprising everyone but no one more than herself. Rodney ran over to help her and they pulled in a small wahoo.
“Wahoo, it’s a wahoo!” exclaimed Gary. “Nice going, Carol!”
“Oh no, I hurt it,” said Carol, seeing the hook stabbed through the mouth of the fish.
Rodney helped unhook it. After a photo, they tossed the fish back into the sea. “Not bad for a newbie,” said Gary.
Within minutes of Carol’s catch, Sam’s reel began to whirl and he grabbed on tight. He pulled up a big sailfish.
The next hour and a half continued to produce success. Rodney brought in a large yellowfin tuna. Gary snared a triggerfish, using snapping shrimp as bait. But the giant trevally remained elusive.
During a lunch break to devour the sandwiches and other food inside the cooler, Gary told the group, “I think we should go for it.”
“Oh oh, he wants to go to the forbidden zone,” said Rodney with a chuckle.
“Seriously, if it looks the least bit unsafe, we’ll head back, but I can’t help think that we’re missing out on something big.”
Gary told Carol and Sam the story of the red border drawn on the fishing map provided by Jamarqui. He shared the remarks from Louis, the American who insisted the locals were hiding a significant fishing spot.
“I don’t think we should go if the area is treacherous,” said Sam.
“That’s the thing,” said Gary. “Jamarqui said the reef and currents are fine. It’s not that. He said the place was haunted.”
Carol said, “With ghosts?”
“Probably some native who drank too much bad rum,” said Rodney.
“I don’t even think it’s a real superstition,” said Gary. “I think it has an ulterior motive. I agree with that guy Louis. He seemed levelheaded. He said not to pay any attention to it. The locals are saving the best fishing for themselves. Given everything we’ve pumped into the local economy, I think we’re entitled to fish where we want, as long as it’s not dangerous and no one’s in harm’s way.”
“What do you think, Sam?” asked Rodney. “Should we check it out?”
“There’s a lot about this world we don’t understand,” said Sam. “I wouldn’t discredit Jamarqui.”
Gary said, “How about if we give it a look, and if it doesn’t appear right, for any reason, we head back?”
Sam shrugged.
Gary looked across the faces of his three companions. “Who here believes in ghosts?”
No one replied. Gary stood up and brushed the lunch crumbs from his lap. “All right then. Let’s go catch us some serious fish.”
Chapter Nine
Giddy with excitement, Gary accelerated the boat, pushing south to pursue his dream of landing the fabled monster fish of Kiritimati Island. Such a catch would be bigger than anything reeled in from the flats and lagoons during the previous five days. This was the Super Bowl finish to a week of spectacular fishing.
Rodney and Sam stationed themselves at opposite sides of the boat, searching the waves for any signs of a GT hotspot. Carol sat on the cushioned bench at the rear of the boat, taking in the adventure with a smile on her face, happy for her friends.
“We should be in the red zone,” reported Gary, looking down at the GPS monitor. “I’ll slow her down.”
“Check it out!” shouted Rodney, jumping with excitement. He pointed to a wild churning in the waters ahead.
Gary leaped from the boat’s controls to get a better look. Sam joined him.
Gary broke out in a big grin. A swirling, dark mass splashed at the surface. As they advanced closer, the sun hit the objects and revealed a massive school of sleek, shiny giant trevallies. Each one measured several feet long.
“We’ve found it!” shouted Rodney.
Gary secured the boat in place. Then he joined Rodney and Sam in the scramble for gear.
“Carol, grab a rod,” said Sam.
“No thanks, I’ll watch this time,” she replied. “I’ve got Jake’s camera. I’ll take pictures.”
Rodney made a long cast, dropping a “popper” and reeling the artificial lure with a quick skim across the water’s surface. Sam used a long, plastic stickbait from his tackle box, while Gary opted for live bait, tossing a mullet fish into the waters and watching a splash of activity as the GTs fought over the food.
Within minutes, the three men each hooked a fish. Then the real challenge began —enduring a fierce battle to reel in the powerful, fast-moving creatures.
Rodney’s rod broke. Gary snapped a line. Sam finally pulled in a good-sized GT, but not before the fish put up a long fight, going under the boat.
The GT landed on the deck with a huge, wet slap and continued its muscular struggle. Gary rushed over with his portable scale, a black box with a hook and digital readout. Once the fi
sh exhausted itself, they hooked it to the scale and weighed it, a slippery effort requiring all three men.
“Fifty-five pounds!” boomed Rodney.
“Not bad.”
Carol looked into the creature’s fading, resigned eyes as the squirming subsided. “Poor thing…” she said, snapping a picture.
“Don’t worry, he’s going back,” said Sam. After recording their catch, they tossed it overboard into the sea.
The men immediately resumed fishing, switching to bigger rods. Gary caught sight of a particularly large shadow cutting a path through the underwater packs of fish.
“That’s the one!” Gary shouted. “The big one. He’s mine!”
“The belt,” said Rodney. “Seriously—use the belt.”
Gary nodded and quickly slid into the standup fighting belt with Rodney’s assistance. “We don’t need anyone going overboard,” said Rodney. “These things could pull the entire boat out to sea if they wanted to.”
The boat rocked harder as the waves began to swell, creating difficult footing.
“How are we doing with the reef?” asked Sam.
Rodney studied the surrounding area for signs of coral. “I think we’re good,” he said. “As long as we stay put.”
Gary cast his bait, aiming for the big one.
“Come to Papa,” he said under his breath, eyes gazing intensely over the waters.
Rodney and Sam stopped to watch.
The movements of the monster fish were hard to miss. It cast a dominant black shape, disappearing briefly when the sun’s reflection on the water caused a blinding shimmer.
Gary watched as some of the smaller fish followed his bait and he yanked it away from them. “Not for you. I want the big guy.”
Carol quietly snapped photos of the three men as they studied the ocean, framed by a perfect blue sky.
Every few minutes, one of the men would exclaim, “I see him!”
Then, after a long stretch of tense silence, Gary felt a sharp tug and said, “Oh boy… I think this is it.”
The battle began.
The giant trevally fought hard, solidly hooked but refusing to exit the water, darting and pulling in abrupt, powerful movements that rocked the boat. The fight continued for five minutes, then ten. Ultimately all three men took part in reeling in the monster fish.
When it finally landed in the boat with a hard thud, the men cheered and leaped on it to prevent a spring-like surge over the side.
Carol joined in the fray to control the GT’s movements, placing her hands on the end of the slimy, squirming fish.
“What you think?” said Gary. “Is it bigger than 70?”
“I don’t know,” said Rodney.
“I’ll grab the scale,” said Sam.
Once the fish settled down and could be more easily controlled, the three men weighed it with the digital scale.
“Eighty-eight!” shouted Gary. “Holy shit, eighty-eight.” He punched a fist into the air. “In your face, Ric Terry!”
Carol took several photos of Gary, Sam, Rodney and the giant trevally. “This picture is going on the wall at my store,” said Gary. “I am no longer an over-the-hill football player… I am a champion fisherman!”
Sam and Rodney cheered for him and they exchanged high-fives.
“Red…” said Carol.
The others didn’t hear her. They continued to marvel over the capture, debating whether to throw it back or bring it to shore to show off.
“It’s so red…” said Carol.
Finally someone turned toward her. “What are you talking about?” asked Rodney.
“Look.” She pointed to the sky.
A sudden accumulation of blood-red clouds moved to block the sun, rapidly draining all other colors around them. The clouds overtook the sky, advancing like growing, rolling waves.
“It wasn’t supposed to rain,” said Gary.
Sam studied the changing colors. “This doesn’t look like rain.”
With a piercing series of squawks, a flock of birds passed overhead, fleeing from the advancing clouds in a dense, frantic cluster.
The wind picked up, blowing sea salt. The waters around the boat swirled with foaming, 10-foot waves. The vessel rocked violently, causing the passengers to stumble and lose their footing. A blast of spray washed across the deck.
“What the hell—!” shouted Gary and then any further words became lost in a huge rumbling as the low-lying clouds completely canvassed the sky in a heavy, throbbing red. Gary staggered to the central console and grabbed the wheel. He fought to control the boat’s twisting movements, but the storm took over.
The deep rumbling resembled an extended roar of thunder and then shifted to a blaring, intensifying shriek.
The sky screamed.
Cold drizzle pounded down on the boat, pelting the vessel with hail-like intensity. The cloud covering sunk lower, descending toward the ocean. The winds howled with rage, pulling rather than pushing, producing a mighty suction.
The fishing boat rocked out of control, tossing around the four passengers in a series of jolts. Sam fell, hitting his forehead. Carol clung to the deck, clutching one of the bolted down chairs. She watched in horror as the 88-pound giant trevally slid across the watery deck and slammed into her, its eyes wide and teeth gnashing. She kicked it away with a scream lost beneath the continuing roar of the storm. The red sky intensified into a blinding glow. The glow surrounded them, bringing the storm clouds all the way to the water’s surface, consuming the small fishing boat as if swallowing it whole.
Gary, Rodney, Sam and Carol absorbed the most horrific fear they had ever known. A cyclone of ghastly faces and swirling flames whipped around them. A searing heat burned under their skin and entered their bones. Terror invaded their senses with repugnant sights, sounds, smells and tastes. The four victims stiffened with paralysis, hands gripping anything within reach, isolated from one another and unable to experience anything but their own personal hell.
Then came the explosion.
The red flames receded with a powerful burst of light. The boat skidded across the sea, skimming the water, propelled by a massive force. The vessel landed in the waves, slammed by the abrupt shift of momentum as the ocean reclaimed control.
The red canvas of clouds rolled back in dissipating wisps, revealing a faded blue sky that gradually regained its color and purity.
Rodney clung to a hook on the interior of the boat. His hand bled from the fierceness of his grip.
He looked across the deck, immediately searching for his friends. “Sam…! Carol…! Gary!”
He glimpsed each of them collapsed in a different area of the boat.
One by one, the four passengers stirred to full consciousness, as if shaking off a concussion or deep and powerful dream.
Gary rose to his knees and immediately vomited.
Carol coughed several times, pushing back the dry heaves.
“What…” said Gary.
“I don’t know…” said Rodney.
Carol looked up at the sky, identical in appearance to earlier in the day. Pure, sunny and cloudless.
“Is anybody hurt?” asked Gary.
Sam sat up, holding a hand to his head. “I smashed my noggin, but I…I think I’m okay.”
Carol asked, “Does anybody else feel like one big sunburn?”
The three men responded affirmative.
Gary stood up, then nearly toppled, legs still shaking. “Shit,” he said.
He looked across the boat and toward the ocean. “What just happened?”
“I’ve never experienced a storm like that,” said Sam. “Ever.”
“Was it some kind of weird tropical hurricane?” asked Rodney.
“No,” said Gary. “A hurricane doesn’t just stop and start like that, and the…those…”
/> “Did anyone else see the faces?” asked Carol.
“I did,” said Sam.
“What was it?” Carol stood up from the deck, clutching her arm.
“I saw it too. Like a hallucination,” said Rodney.
“We have to get back to shore,” said Gary. “Whatever that was… I don’t want it coming back.”
Slowly, the four passengers regained a sense of normalcy in their surroundings. Gary steered the boat north to return to the hotel.
“My camera’s gone,” said Carol, searching the deck.
“So’s the fish,” muttered Rodney.
“We’re just lucky to be alive,” said Sam.
The journey back up the island’s shoreline was strangely uneventful.
Clustered together around Gary, who steered the boat from the center console, they continued to discuss the strange, violent storm that had attacked them out of nowhere like a vengeful beast.
Each described a similar experience, so they couldn’t deny what had taken place, but no one could rationalize it.
“Bermuda triangle,” said Rodney.
“That’s crazy,” said Gary.
“You got a better explanation?”
“No.”
“Maybe it’s beyond our comprehension,” said Sam. “There are things about the world that don’t present themselves in ways that are explained by science. There is science, and there is belief.”
“So what do you believe?” asked Rodney.
Sam looked at him for a long moment. “I believe we went to a very dark place.”
Gary said, “Maybe it’s something they put in our drinks, like a drug. Maybe it was like an acid trip.”
“That was no acid trip,” said Rodney.
“How would you know?”
“When you’re a police officer, you know a thing or two about narcotics.”
“I think that man was right,” said Carol, speaking up for the first time since they left the school of trevally.
“What man?” asked Rodney.
“The man who rented us this boat.”
Anatomy of Evil Page 5