“Roger that, Ellway.” After a second: “Depth charges away.” After several more seconds: “Congratulations, Mister Ellway, you are the proud father of a dead fault line.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,” Jack said with a smile. “Give my regards to Colonel Wayne. Ellway out.” He removed the headset and looked at Hale. “Okay, that’s the easy stuff out of the way.”
Suddenly, a spark flashed in the corner of Jack’s eye. He turned to look at the broadcaster in time to see several more sparks. “Oh, no,” he muttered.
Hale ran over to the broadcaster and started making some adjustments, but it kept sparking. “Hell and damnation,” he said, “it’s the circuitry. The high-frequency is failing.” Quickly but gingerly, Hale removed a panel from the broadcaster.
Reluctantly, knowing full well what he would see and hoping against hope that he wouldn’t see it, Jack looked at the sonar display. “The creature’s getting closer,” he said anxiously. The sonar placed it at thirty meters and closing very quickly.
Jack turned to see that Brandon was still standing by the back rail with Casey.
Beyond Brandon, he could see that the water was churning to a degree much greater than could be accounted for by simply being in the boat’s wake.
As Jack ran to grab Brandon, he could feel the boat speeding up. Thank you, Paul, he thought as he wrapped his arm around Brandon’s waist and pulled him away. He wasn’t sure how much good it would do—the creature was big enough that it probably didn’t matter what part of the boat one was on if it chose to attack—but it was probably safer at the center of the boat than the edges.
Brandon broke free, and Jack was about to protest when he saw that his son was going back for Casey, who still stood peering between the slats of the railing.
“Just a loose wire!” Hale called out.
Jack ran over to the broadcaster just as Hale reconnected a wire, then replaced the panel and switched the ultra-high-frequency back on. Jack turned to the sonar display to see that the creature was moving farther back—or, rather, since they were still moving at a good clip, the creature had stopped moving forward. Then, after a moment, it continued at a safer distance, this time staying fifty-five meters back. The sudden burst of sonics that close must’ve spooked it.
“Well, that was fun,” Jack muttered. He looked up to the bridge. “You okay up there, Paul?”
“Oh yeah, just peachy,” Paul said, sounding breathless. “I’ll be fine the minute my heart restarts. Let’s not do that again real soon, huh?”
“I’ll do my best, mate,” Hale said.
“Dad,” Brandon said.
Jack looked at his son, and saw that he was gazing out onto the water behind them. Following his gaze, Jack saw a trawler making a beeline for their boat and gaining as fast as the reptile had done minutes earlier.
“What the hell?”
Then he recognized the man behind the wheel. Derek. Jesus Christ, doesn’t this guy ever quit?
As he got closer, Derek pulled over to the port side of the president’s boat. Makes sense, Jack thought, that’s the direction the current is going.
Then he noticed something else: thanks to that selfsame current, the speakers had drifted in the same direction. And Derek was pulling his propellor-powered boat into a position that put those propellors dangerously close to the two speaker wires.
He cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “Stay back!”
Hale and Paul did likewise. “Back! Stay back!” “Derek, stay back!”
Still steering with one hand, Derek picked up what looked like a harpoon gun with the other. “Hand over the little one!” he cried out. “I want the little one!” The New Zealander’s face had gone red, and his eyes looked wild. I think our fisherman friend has lost it, Jack thought, which might have given him some comfort—to Jack’s way of thinking, fewer people deserved it more—but for the fact that he was dangerously close to destroying the only thing keeping them all from becoming giant-reptile food.
“Please, Derek, back off!” Jack cried.
“Shut your mouth! Just hand over the little one—and your rotten kid too, for security! I’ll turn him loose when I’m safe!”
Like hell, Jack thought, and immediately guided Brandon below decks. To his credit, Brandon didn’t even think of resisting, but grabbed Casey in his arms and went down the narrow staircase.
Paul shouted, “Derek, you moron, get out of here! The giant creature’s right below us!”
Having safely stowed his son, Jack turned to look again at Derek’s propellors—they were inches from the speaker wires. Then he looked at the sonar—the creature kept its distance at fifty-five meters, but that would change the minute those speakers stopped broadcasting.
Hale cried, “You’re gonna kill us all, you maniac!”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t!” Derek yelled.
And then it happened: the propellor sliced right through the speaker wires. The wires emitted brief sparks that died in the water, and the speakers belonging to Dak’s band floated off into the Pacific Ocean.
Hale said unnecessarily, “Jack, we’ve lost the wires.”
Jack looked at the sonar. Thirty meters and closing. We’re toast.
“I’ve got nothing to lose, mates,” Derek was carrying on. “I’m not leaving without the creature and the boy!”
Twenty meters.
And then a massive head broke through the water.
For a moment, Jack Ellway couldn’t move. He was in complete awe. The nine-footer had been magnificent in its “plumage” of horns; the mother magnificent in size and grandeur. This one combined both of those elements, and it was an amazing sight. Jack found himself hypnotized by the creature’s majesty.
The hypnotism ended when it smashed Derek’s boat.
Derek screamed. The creature trashed the rear of the trawler. Derek somehow had the presence of mind to leap off before the next swipe, which took the rest of it. Then he swam toward the president’s boat.
“Y’know,” Paul said, “we could leave him down there.”
Jack had to admit to being tempted, but enough people had died already. “Grab my legs,” he said to Hale as he got down onto his stomach. Once Hale did as he asked, he leaned out as far as he could and reached toward the water. “Grab my hand,” he said to Derek.
To Jack’s relief, Derek grabbed Jack’s right wrist with his own right hand; Jack likewise grabbed Derek’s wrist with his right hand, using his left to haul himself and the fisherman onto the boat.
To Jack’s annoyance, Derek still held the harpoon gun in his left hand.
Jack reached for the harpoon gun, but Derek yanked it out of Jack’s reach, then swung it around and hit Jack in the stomach with the handle.
Wheezing, Jack fell to his knees, grateful for the lifejacket he wore—it probably dulled the impact. Even with it, he had had the wind knocked out of him. Derek stumbled forward and tried to punch Jack in the face, but was thrown off balance by the rocking of the boat. The swing went over Jack’s head.
Clutching his stomach with his left hand, Jack thrust a punch toward Derek’s stomach, which doubled the fisherman over—but he still didn’t relinquish the harpoon gun.
Jack made another lunge for the harpoon gun, but Derek once again hit Jack with the handle, this time in the upper thorax. Eye-tearing pain sliced through his chest. Shit, I think he nailed a rib, he thought as he lashed out with a backhanded punch to Derek’s jaw.
And then Jack found himself propelled upward.
There is a moment that high-divers experience when they hit the apogee of their dive, that moment when they hang in the air, the force of their leap off the diving board finally starting to give way to gravity but not yet willing to relinquish its hold. For that one moment, one is free of any constraints, but free in the air.
Jack felt that moment seconds after punching Derek. In that split second before gravity reasserted itself and pulled him toward the harsh waters of the Pacific, he looked down and saw why
he had been thrown skyward in the first place.
The creature, having completed its demolition of Derek’s trawler, had apparently swum under the president’s boat and come up through the bottom, splitting the vessel in half.
Somehow, Jack managed to convert his tumble downward into a passable dive. It took all his willpower to keep from inhaling sharply when the water collided with his bruised ribs. Within a few seconds, he was treading water, kept afloat by the graces of the lifejacket.
He looked around quickly, trying to take stock of the situation. He saw Hale swim over to where Casey was floundering in the water—the little guy seemed befuddled by this turn of events.
Oh God, Jack realized, Casey’s alone. Where’s Brandon?
Then he sighted his son, who was gazing at Hale with a look of relief on his face.
“Toss the gun away,” came Paul’s voice from behind Jack. Maneuvering around in the water, Jack saw Paul holding a life preserver and speaking to Derek. Like the rest of them, Derek was treading water; unlike the rest of them, the New Zealander didn’t have a lifejacket, and he looked like he wouldn’t be able to keep the tread up much longer, especially since he still clutched the harpoon gun with his left hand like it was an extension of his arm.
“I mean it, Derek, toss the gun away,” Paul repeated.
A snarl on his face, Derek did as he was told. The harpoon gun went flying off behind Derek, who then hungrily snatched at the preferred life preserver.
Okay, that accounts for all the humans, and for the baby. So what happened to Dad and Junior?
Suddenly, Brandon sank underwater.
It happened so fast, Jack almost didn’t see Brandon actually go down. One minute he was dog-paddling over toward Hale and Casey, the next he was gone.
“Brandon!” he shouted.
When his son didn’t resurface after a second had passed, Jack gingerly removed his lifejacket, took several quick breaths to super-oxygenate his blood, and then dove under the surface.
Jack had never been the greatest swimmer in the world. Relentlessly competent was how Diane had described his swimming ability when they were dating, and he hadn’t improved much in the subsequent ten-plus years. Add to that the bruised ribs, and it was a struggle to move downward, much less find his son. He had to rely much more on his feet than his arms, as each movement of his right arm sent splinters of pain shooting through his chest.
Within a few seconds of agonizing swimming, he found Brandon, whose lifejacket had gotten caught on one of the stray ropes from one of the two mangled ships. But the rope’s taut, Jack realized. That doesn’t make sense.
He peered down—to see that the other end of the rope was wrapped around the tail of the nine-footer.
Kicking fiercely toward Brandon, Jack noticed that both the giant creature and the nine-footer were swimming downward. I guess they’ve given up on us. But why have they—?
Then he remembered: The Iozima Ridge. This is where they came from. I guess they’ve decided that life outside the nest is more trouble than it’s worth. Nice to see my instinct was right.
Unfortunately, their homesickness was threatening Brandon’s life.
Ignoring the pain, he pushed ever downward, finally managing to snag Brandon. As he undid the boy’s lifejacket, dark spots started to form in front of his eyes. His right arm felt sluggish as he wrapped it around his now-free son. A lecture from his scuba diving certification course came back to him: “It’s not the oxygen deprivation that gets you, that makes your vision cloudy, that gums up your reflexes; it’s the carbon dioxide buildup. CO2 is not your friend.”
He kicked as hard as he could toward the surface, using his left arm to push downward in the hopes of propelling himself up as fast as possible, cradling Brandon in his right.
On the way up, the baby creature came swimming down.
For a brief instant, Brandon and Casey exchanged glances. Brandon reached out and touched Casey’s face.
Then they continued on their way, each back homeward.
Jack spared the baby one final look down as they tried to get surfaceward. Casey swam as fast as he could, trying to rejoin his brother and father.
The instant his head broke through the surface, Jack took the longest, deepest breath he’d ever taken—then cried out in pain, as the sharp intake pained his bruised ribs. But he didn’t care—he’d never enjoyed taking a breath so much in his life.
A plank from one of the boats floated nearby, and they both grabbed onto it.
Then they looked at each other.
Brandon fell into Jack’s arms and hugged him tightly.
That hurt even more than the breath had, and Jack cared even less. Part of him hoped Brandon would never let go.
Clutching his son in his arms, Jack looked over at Hale, who was smiling. “Did you free the baby?” he asked.
Hale nodded. “Yeah, I figured the little bloke belonged with his family.”
“I can’t bloody believe you did that,” Derek said, rubbing his jaw. “Don’t you realize—”
Paul rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, Derek.”
Hale suddenly perked up. “What’s that sound?”
“What sound?” Jack asked. Then he heard it: a motor. He turned to see a boat with the letters USMC stencilled on the side.
Standing at the prow was Colonel Wayne. To Jack’s amazement, he was grinning ear to ear.
“Someone call a cab?”
EPILOGUE
“Derek Lawson, you are under arrest.”
Those were the first words Joe Movita said when Derek Lawson set foot onto Malau from the Marine boat. He said them as he grabbed Derek’s arms and yanked them—perhaps a bit too violently—behind his back and applied handcuffs to the fisherman’s wrists.
“What’re the charges?” Ellway asked as he followed Derek off the boat—though, Joe noticed, the marine biologist moved more gingerly.
“Assaulting a police officer,” Joe said, pointing to his left eye, which had swollen half shut.
“Ooh, that doesn’t look good,” Ellway said, taking a closer look at the chief’s face. Then he clutched his side. “And this doesn’t feel good.”
“I’d say you should see a doctor, but she left on the last ’copter.”
Colonel Wayne stepped down and looked angrily at Joe. “And how come you weren’t on that copter, Chief?”
“I had some unfinished business with Derek here. Besides, Malau is my home. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve been responsible for its well being for all of my adult life. Captain goes down with the sinking ship, y’know?”
Wayne shook his head. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky.”
“How’s that?”
Derek finally spoke. “These bleedin’ idiots led the creatures back to their homes.”
“Sonar confirmed it,” Wayne said. “Dad, Junior, and the baby all went deep into the ridge.”
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing them again,” Ellway said. “My guess is that Junior and the baby went exploring out of the fault line and found themselves on Malau. Mom came after them, and ran afoul of the human predator. Dad came to retrieve Mom’s corpse and finish her job of bringing the kids home.”
“Gotta admire family loyalty,” Doctor Hale added.
Joe shook his head. He’d never even met his own father, yet it was out of a sense of loyalty to him that he took on the role of the island’s protector—the same role his father had taken on when he challenged the Japanese overlords of Malau during the war. Odd that giant reptiles would have the same kind of loyalty.
He also thought about Jimmy, to whom he had made a promise. In a sense, it had been kept, though Joe wasn’t sure that Jimmy would see it that way.
Well, it’ll have to do, he decided as he led Derek off.
By morning, most of the inhabitants of Malau had returned. They had barely had time to settle on Kalor before they were called back. But in Colonel J. Christopher Wayne’s considered opinion, the threat had passed, so it was safe.
Hot on the locals’ heels were the media, all of whom wanted to know everything about the monsters that had terrorized the island. The lack of any video footage disappointed them, as did Wayne’s monosyllabic replies to their endless questions—Wayne hated dealing with the press, and eventually he said that he’d only talk to Bateman. The Malau Weekly News editor had done well for himself, as his were the only pictures of the nine-footer, but not nearly as well as that paparazzo—what was his name? Askegrit or something?—whose photo of Big Mama Lizard had been snatched up by every news agency on the planet.
From this point on, Wayne thought, it’s just cleanup after a successful mission.
I just hope General Cox sees it that way.
Cox arrived in a helicopter several hours ahead of schedule. His full complement of troops were still on a troop carrier plowing its way through the Pacific from Okinawa. A tall, imposing man with a shaved head who always wore mirrorshades and smoked Cuban cigars, he had known Christopher Wayne since they were both newly promoted sergeants at the latter stages of ’Nam.
As he set foot off the chopper and ran over, bent double to stay out of the wash of the blades, he cried out, “Chris, you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?”
Wayne saluted first, which Cox returned. “If the general would be more specific as to—”
“Oh, can the crap, Chris, I’m not in the mood,” Cox said as he removed a Havana from his shirt pocket. “I tell you I’m takin’ over, and your response is to blow up a damn ridge.” He bit off one end of the cheroot. “You wanna explain that one?” he asked as he lit it.
“You told me that you would take over the mission upon your arrival, General. I took that to mean that I still retained command until your arrival. I was given a plan that stood a good chance of solving the crisis with less risk than an all-out assault.”
“And you used civilians on a military operation,” Cox said, a haze of cigar smoke now floating around his cue-ball-like head.
“The civilians came up with the plan, and they had the expertise. Plus, the plan was sanctioned by the local government, at whose behest we were here. This is Malauan soil, General, and—”
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