by Michael Cole
“Why?” the Admiral asked. Salkil returned his gaze toward him.
“To check the ocean floor for a body,” he answered. The Captain, standing next to the Admiral, spoke up.
“Colonel, the odds of finding anything are extremely low. This is a very deep area, and the current sweeps out to the northeast, into deeper waters. Finding a needle in a haystack would be a more desirable scenario.”
“You bombarded it with missiles, Colonel,” Ford added. “You’re still not convinced? Is there anything more about this creature you’ve failed to inform me about?”
“I never failed to inform anything,” Salkil said. “I gave as much detail as permitted by powers above either of us. In regards to my wanting to locate the carcass; I just prefer to be thorough. Nothing more than that, sir.” He gazed past the Naval officers toward one of the helicopters. They had just finished refueling one of them. “If you’ll excuse me…” he gave the Admiral a salute and proceeded to walk past him. The Admiral turned around.
“Colonel,” he shouted, “you do realize you’ll have to make a report explaining this whole thing. When the media hears about this…”
“When they do, you’ll be commended,” Salkil said, looking back at Ford. “It was good work of you, locating that band of terrorists who hijacked a sailing yacht, killed its crew, and used it to sneak a bomb into our coastal waters. Of course, there was no other way to stop it other than to use Seahawk helicopters to destroy it with hellfire missiles.”
“You expect to make a cover story of all this?”
“Not my choice,” Salkil said. He turned and stepped into the cabin of the refueled helicopter. The two pilots boarded, as if already aware he wanted transporting. They took their seats and placed their headgear on.
“Off to Mako’s Center, sir?” one of them said.
“Affirmative,” Salkil answered. He buckled himself into the seat, and felt the blades begin to rotate. Soon enough, they were airborne, going southeast where Salkil would oversee the operation to ensure there be no word of a hybrid monster attack.
********
Its last movement was a downward arch, and a single swing of its tail. Weak and motionless, the injured creature sank in a slow, spiraling motion to the bottom of the ocean. A trail of blood, appearing like red clouds of fog in the water, seeped from the large wound behind its left gill-line.
The creature had no conscious memory of the fiery explosion that nearly engulfed it. Nor did it understand what it was at the time. The shockwave came sudden and unexpected, like an invisible force that penetrated the water, and fractured its nearly impenetrable shell. Stunned by the paralyzing blow, it was unable to contract its muscles. The ocean darkened as it sank beneath the reach of sunlight, causing it to see nothing but black. Its sense of smell was flooded with its own blood. Its heartbeat slowed with the loss of blood, furthering its weakness. The rapid loss of blood slowed the process in which its platelets could seal the wound. The shark, although it had no conscious understanding of it, was well near death.
The shark hit the dark ocean bottom headfirst. With the pull of gravity, it rolled motionless on its side. There it would lie, motionless and with a complete lack of energy. It could not even muster the strength to generate enough motion to push water over its gills. Minutes passed, and the brain began to shut down from insufficient oxygenation.
As if determined by fate, a gush of water suddenly flowed into its mouth, circulating through its gills. Its brain cells lit up, replenished. Its heart, while slowly, continued to pump blood through its veins. Life would not fade just yet. The ocean current lifted the hybrid shark by mere inches, and slowly carried it out into deeper waters. The hybrid made no effort against this; it simply didn’t have the strength.
Over the next few days, the current gradually moved it along, bumping it against rocky formations and hills, rolling it like a log, and occasionally gliding it a few feet above the ocean floor. The hybrid continued to barely cling to life. The current fed water over its gills during this time, providing just enough to keep it alive. But the creature was still weak, and its brain was ready to shut down at anytime. Like the last ember in a fire, it struggled to function.
Finally, the current brought it to a canyon. Lodged by some underwater rocks, the hybrid lay flat on the ocean bottom. It still found itself unable to move itself. Weakness and fatigue plagued its muscles like a disease. The creature even seemed to lack a will to live. It laid there in wait for the likely inevitable death.
Its Ampullae of Lorenzini picked up nearby movements in the water. Its lateral line could pick up a heartbeat. Something lurked nearby: something alive. Though the hybrid could not see, it could sense the motion of two snakelike tentacles slithering over the rocks toward it. Behind those tentacles was the bulk of Architeuthis Dux. With red leathery flesh, the giant squid pulled itself nearer, curious to see the possible meal that had floated its way. It flapped its fins at the end of its twenty-foot mantle, helping to lift itself with the aid of its eight regular arms. It extended its two longer tentacles toward the strange lifeform. The clubs grazed the rigid side of the hybrid, as if studying it. Suction cups squished against the shell, only to retract from the spines. In an automatic response, the shark wiggled. It was a small physical motion, and it settled back down. The squid’s interest piqued. There was no doubt this strange object was alive and would likely provide great sustenance.
The shark could feel the leathery tentacles dig between it and the earth, ultimately scooping it up. The tentacles rolled the shark toward the hungry squid. Its meal offered no resistance. Other tentacles, lined with subspherical suction cups, reached out, snagging the creature by the tail and fins. Teeth from these suction cups clawed at its prey, but only scraped against rigid shell. The squid was not concerned; it was not the first time it slaughtered prey with solid exoskeletons. Tentacles curled around the tail, body, and head, properly securing it. The squid snapped its beak, like that of a parrot, and pulled the shark in towards it.
In a scissor-like fashion, the white beak bit down near the head. The squid’s whole body jerked, as it was unable to penetrate. The squid tried a second time, only to have the same result. The squid rolled the shark to the side and attempted to bite just ahead of the dorsal fin. Once again, it could not break the exterior. The squid was hungry enough to continue. It attempted biting at various other spots. Its tentacles squirmed over the hybrid, searching for any weak spots.
One of the red, flexible arms pressed over the scabbing wound on the hybrid’s side. Neurons fired in its small, donut shaped brain, as it sensed the vulnerable spot. It manipulated the shark to bring the injured area into view. It pressed its head into the crevice in the shell. The beak bit into soft flesh. Blood erupted from the reopened wound. The squid’s radula, a tongue lined with razor sharp teeth, drove tiny bits of flesh into the esophagus.
At that instant, nerves flared within the hybrid. Its heart started pumping incessantly, as if injected with adrenaline. Like a rebooting computer, the creature’s brain kicked on. It was struck with consciousness and a sense of pain. That activated a sense of alert, and thus, the instinctual drive for survival.
The shark, previously motionless and weak, now twisted and turned. The squid, nearly caught off guard, tightened its hold. This was a natural course of action. In this case, it was a mistake.
The tentacles curled around the shark’s body and tightened. The shark then rolled like a wheel. As it did, the splintering spines along its body tore into the leathery flesh of the tentacles. It was equivalent to holding on to barbwire. Flesh was ripped and ravaged. Nociceptors lit up along the damaged arms, signaling the brain of the damage. The shark writhed. The tentacle around its head, after being sliced in several places, uncoiled and slid down near the nose.
This was the second mistake.
The hybrid’s nostrils picked up the sense of blood. The visceral need of self-preservation was now conjoined with the lust of hunger. The hybrid snapped its jaws. Tee
th seamlessly sank into the arm. The squid had hardly any time to react. With its jaws clasped onto the tentacle, the hybrid swung its head side to side, like a canine shredding a chew toy. Flesh tore, and the tentacle quickly detached. The hybrid swallowed a portion of meat.
The squid quickly learned that this meal was not worth further injury. It loosened its grasp and attempted to slide away into the darkness. It hardly gained any distance as the hybrid turned to face it, and quickly bit down on another of its arms. After seizing the squid, the hybrid then turned and started swimming back, dragging its flailing meal along. The squid writhed in pain. Blood oozed from the various wounds. In the dark depths, the cloud of blood was as black as the surrounding water.
The squid, distressed and eager to escape, tried to release itself from the shark’s powerful grasp. It reached two of its tentacles toward the jaws, and attempted pulling them apart. It did not work, as the shark only tightened its hold. Finally, in an act of desperation, the squid pushed itself away. The tentacle in hold went taut. The tears created by the teeth incisions widened as the tentacle pulled away. Flesh ripped and blood spurted, until finally, the tentacle was torn clear of the squid’s body.
Free from the deathly clasp, the squid flooded water into its mantle cavity. In a single strong motion, it flushed the water through the siphon, jet propelling the squid into the distance. Blood and ink trailed the creature as it fled.
While its eyes proved useless in this darkness, the sense of smell worked perfectly. The Ampullae of Lorenzini detected the fluttering movements of its enemy as it made distance. The shark swung its tail in large rapid movements. Like its genetic ancestor, the Mako, it shot after the squid like a bullet.
The squid was caught off guard yet again. It barely detected the shark’s rapid approach. The hybrid hooked slightly upward, eventually curving down until it collided with its target. Teeth sank into the mantle just above the right eye. Its downward force drove the squid into a bed of rocks beneath it. Pointed rocks tore into the soft underside. Dust and gravel formed a mucky cloud.
In sharp, vicious motions, the hybrid tore into the mantle. Pieces of pink innards joined the cloud of ink and blood surrounding the titans. The squid sprung its remaining arms at the shark in an attempt to peel it off.
The hybrid momentarily stopped its ravaging of the mantle to fend off the eel-like arms. It quickly tore one away, and then another. One of the arms constricted around its mid-section like an anaconda, but the hybrid instinctually corkscrewed. Spines sliced through the tentacle, forcing it to release. The shark turned and darted downward. It attacked the same mantle wound. Each chomping bite tore away pounds of flesh. The tentacles writhed, like that of an enraged demon. Eventually they slowed, swaying like pink stalks of kelp in the ocean current. Soon, even these motions came to an end, and the remaining tentacles fell into coiled positions around the squid’s lifeless carcass.
There was no sense of victory for the shark. It continued tearing away at the mantle, swallowing mouthfuls of flesh. Soon, the squid’s body had lost all distinguishable form.
As if finished its vicious assault, the Ampullae of Lorenzini picked up new movements. Something approached behind the shark. Territorial aggression kicked in, and the hybrid turned and lashed forward in a single rapid motion.
After detecting the scuffle between the hybrid and the squid, the cuttlefish hoped to feast on the scraps of the loser. When it realized the danger, it reacted with lightning fast reflexes, jet propelling away. Unfortunately for it, its reflexes were surpassed only by the swift advance of the hybrid.
Teeth tore into flesh. Water swirled in a large circular motion, kicking up dust and debris. Blood spurted from many wounds. Within a few brief heartbeats, it was over. Bits of flesh swirled in the water after much of its mantle was swallowed by the creature.
Blood still leaked from its wound as the hybrid explored its new environment. The injury was of no concern. Eventually, it would molt its shell and form a fresh one, thicker and more solid than the last. Food here was plentiful. Soon, its eyes would adjust to the darkness. Like a submarine patrolling new waters, Isurus Palinuridae stayed close to the ocean floor. After slaughtering the deep’s most notorious predator, it had established new territory.
CHAPTER
4
THREE YEARS LATER
Golden rays of sunlight pierced through the blue, cloudless sky and cast upon an equally blue sea. The Atlantic Ocean, vast and superior, seemed flat and undisturbed. Any passing waves were so gentle and slow, they hardly seemed noticeable. The wind was nothing more than a soft breeze.
The stillness in the water was perfect for the large flock of gulls. Resembling a large white sheet in the blue water, the gulls settled in, floating like little white canoes. Chirps and squawks echoed through the crowd, as if the birds were casually chatting to each other. Some dipped their heads to catch little fish that lingered too close, while others drank salt water from the sea they rested on.
Soon, a whirring motor noise filled the atmosphere, along with screams of joy and merriment. The noises drew closer and louder. The water began to vibrate, and the flock of gulls spread their wings and fled skyward. A speedboat, towing two people on jet skis, passed through the cloud of birds at a maximum speed of thirty knots.
Standing at the helm, Adam burst with laughter as he deliberately drove the Atlantic 670 open speedboat through the flock. Some of the slower gulls bounced off the hull and dipped into the water, before flapping their wings to take off. Others, too injured, simply floated. He kept one hand on the wheel, while clutching a can of beer with the other. After they cleared the flock, he tilted the can into his mouth and gulped a mouthful of beer. He wiped the suds off his scruffy face onto his forearm, which he proceeded to wipe on his exercise shorts. He let out a loud belch and proceeded to chuckle and listen to the cheering from the two skiers behind him.
Over the cheers came the inevitable scolding from his girlfriend, Elaina, sitting in the rear seat.
“Jesus, Adam! That was horrible!” Adam sighed heavily. And…it starts… In his mind, there was nothing he could do that she wouldn’t criticize. You didn’t cut the grass! That’s not the tile we agreed on! You spent eight hundred bucks on a motorcycle when the roof’s leaking?! Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna be out late?
Of course, he didn’t bother to consider he might have deserved criticism for most of those things. In his mind, there wasn’t a care in the world. He glanced back at Elaina. Normally, he’d be checking out her slim athletic body in that blue bikini. But, unfortunately this time, her angry gaze pulled him away from all that. He retracted his attention to the path ahead.
“Relax babe, they’re just birds,” he said. He cut the wheel to port, steering the speedboat into a tight circle. He looked back at the skiers in tow. Both of them, lady friends of Elaina, successfully held on to their ski handles and leaned slightly to the left. With Elaina being in his line of sight, he couldn’t help but notice she maintained that angry glare. “You know, it’d be helpful it you’d keep an eye on them so I can drive this thing,” he grumbled.
“You’re a dick,” she said. She adjusted in her seat and looked at the endless reach of ocean, as if to avoid looking at Adam. He rolled his eyes and focused back on his driving.
“God!” he exclaimed, under his breath. He completed several more circles before maneuvering into a different path. He curved the speedboat into an S-shaped course. He glanced back at the skiers, who remarkably managed to hold on. Usually by now, someone took a spill. Elaina reached over to the cooler, seated next to her, and grabbed a beer. As she opened it, she repositioned to face her boyfriend.
“So, when do I get a turn?” she asked. Her voice lacked the annoyed tone it previously had. Rather, it sounded pathetically friendly. This was another common thing Adam had grown used to: attitude changes to obtain a particular want. Adam ignored her and took another swig of his beer. “Hey,” she said, “don’t blow me off. When do I get a try?”
“Babe,” he said, while keeping his eyes forward, “you ALWAYS fall off. I barely accelerate two knots before you take a dive.”
“I do not!” she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.
“Yeah…you do,” Adam said. He curved the boat to the right, then back to the left. He could hear Elaina stand up and step up behind him. Reaching around his shoulders, her hands caressed his chest and abs. She pressed herself against his back, an effort to entice him.
“Come on,” she said. The words were long and drawn out. As if in direct response, Adam released a loud gurgling belch. His whole body reverberated with the repulsive action, and the air was briefly ranked with foul odor before the wind brushed the air away. Elaina pushed herself away, aghast and disgusted. With a frustrated sigh, she sat back down.
“You’re disgusting,” she remarked, and crossed her arms.
“More where that came from,” Adam quipped. Elaina groaned, exaggeratedly expressing her displeasure. She grabbed her beer from the cup holder and sipped on it.
God, I’ll be hearing about this all evening, Adam thought to himself. He tipped his beer into his mouth, bottom up. After draining it, he dropped the can and stomped on it, releasing another belch. He looked over his shoulder.
“Get me another one, will ya?” he asked Elaina. She scoffed, nearly spitting suds from her beer. The burning glare that followed already provided the answer, and moments later, the verbal translation came out.
“Really?” she said. Adam shrugged his shoulders. “Unbelievable.” She crossed her arms. “Get it yourself!” Adam glanced at the cooler, just out of reach.
“Oh, come on! Are you being serious?” he complained. The silent treatment followed, and Elaina simply sat and watched the passing waves. Adam felt his temper slipping away. His mind warped through a scroll of things he wanted to say, none of which were friendly. Eventually, he resorted to the old teaching; If you have nothing good to say, then don’t say it. Considering what he wanted to say, he figured it was a course of action.