Hotel Megalodon: A Deep Sea Thriller

by Rick Chesler

  She called out, “Hey, anybody in here?” as she jumped back over the bar, and walked toward the compromised window. The spider web of cracks was more extensive now, whole sheets of water spilling down the inside of it, making the reef outside appear blurry. And there, off to the left, she saw it. A shadowy, blurred image. Moving. Big. There was absolutely nothing she could do about what was out there, though, so she concentrated on what she could control. She finished her sweep of the bar area, sidestepping knocked-over chairs and broken glass.

  No one here. Then she heard a popping noise, and the tinkle of glass hitting the tile floor, followed quickly by the sound of softly splashing water, like from a small fountain. A small diameter chunk of the acrylic had come loose, forced inside by the water pressure outside. She didn’t know how long it would hold on, but that window was severely compromised, and to be in here when it failed was to die.

  She jogged toward the main restaurant, calling out as she went. “Anybody in here? Anybody here?”

  No response.

  And then she heard it. A humming sound. Faint, but down here one became attuned quickly to the self-contained environment. Every sound, every sight. It all meant something. This was out of the norm. Coco threaded her way through a group of dining tables until she reached the front of the restaurant, the reservation station Tricia had been standing at now vacant.

  Then she heard a loud clack as a release mechanism disengaged and a solid metal door dropped from the ceiling. She called out, “Hey, I’m still in here!” in vain, feeling her own voice bounce back into the sealed off room. Panic gripped her as she looked around, but even as she did, she knew there was no other way out of here but the front entrance. She recalled with a shiver how Aiden had complained about having no service entrance, that if they needed anything it had to be brought right through the front entrance in full view of the guests. When he had complained to White he had been told to “plan ahead.” As if White planned ahead; his lack of ability to do so was the reason they were all in this mess now.

  She realized it, then, too late. He had planned ahead, now, though, hadn’t he? She was in here, he was out there with all of the guests and other staff...was that an accident? In her mind’s eye she replayed the series of events just before she had went back inside the restaurant. Can you do a last sweep of the restaurant, and make sure no one else is in there? But just before that he had told Caesar to let him know when he was ready to activate the pressure door, so he could make sure no one was inside...except for me! He knows I blame him for this catastrophe unfolding, for the deaths of those people in the tunnel...

  No, she told herself, shaking it off. That’s ridiculous. You’re just being paranoid. The guy’s an asshole but he’s not a killer. She forced herself to get back to reality, and figure a way out of here before it was too late. She looked around. Communicate. She had to communicate. Her gaze lit on the bar. She pictured Aiden talking on the phone back there, and ran toward it. All she had to do was let someone know she was in here, Caesar would get the word to raise the door, she’d slink out, slightly embarrassed, but none the worse for wear, they’d seal the door again, and all’s well that ends well. Right?

  She jumped over the bar again and looked beneath the drink station for the phone. There it was. It was the same as the rest of the hotel phones, a modern conferencing style wired phone with multiple buttons, just dial an extension to talk within the hotel. She eyed Front Desk and was about to hit that when she paused. That’s a little like calling a friend to dial 911 for you when you could just dial it yourself, isn’t it?

  From her right came another tinkle of a piece of acrylic hitting the floor with a constant stream of water thereafter. She glanced over at the window. Megalodon or no megalodon, when that window broke, the force of the water would crush her anywhere in here, not much different than being in an explosion. She would not even get the chance to hold her breath and swim for the surface. Her only hope was through that door. And since the door was lead-lined steel designed to keep out the tons and tons of pressure exerted by the ocean pouring in here, her only real hope was to open that door.

  Coco looked again at the phone’s extension buttons. Forget the front desk. She traced an index finger down the rest of the row of buttons...Maid service, Topside Front Desk, Dive Shop, (that’s me!), Activities Coordinator, Train Control Room, Main Control Room...that’s it!

  As another section of the window exploded into the room, this one larger than the last, Coco hit the button to talk to Engineering. They’d be able to raise that door.

  Chapter 24

  James White deposited his flock of guests with an already stressed Front Desk employee, and quietly slipped away. Certain he was out of sight, he began running down one of the smaller hallways. He found the door he was looking for, marked Main Control Room, and pushed his way inside without knocking.

  Caesar was inside, alone, seated at another control console, much larger than the one for the train controls. An African-American in his mid-thirties, Caesar was well liked by all staff due to his easy-going nature, and skill on the ukulele at parties. He looked up at White, surprised. “The door should be in place,” he said, concerned that something else had gone wrong.

  “It is. I just thought I would stop by and double check with you to make sure it’s actually sealed—no pressure alarms, anything like that?”

  Caesar furrowed his brow. “The door is sealed, but so far the window has held.”

  “How about the emergency pod system?”

  Caesar nodded, and turned to a different portion of the control board. “Yes, so—“

  The phone rang, a light blinking on its face. Caesar swiveled in his chair, but White raised a hand and moved for the phone. “I’ll get it.” He reached over, and hit the button to send the call directly to voicemail. Caesar gave him a quizzical look. “That wasn’t Topside Engineering was it, because I’m waiting to hear about the tunnel, they—“

  “No, it wasn’t. Just Front Desk trying to track me down. It’s not important. Not compared to this,” he said, pointing at the console. “Now, you were saying about the emergency pod system?”

  Caesar wheeled his chair over to the right, away from the phone, and pointed to a bank of controls. “Yes, sir. This panel here...”

  #

  Coco exhaled heavily as she clicked the button to disconnect from Engineering. No one there. Guess I’ll have to try Front Desk after all...She was looking for the right button when the room darkened in shadow again. Unable to keep herself from looking away, she turned her head toward the window. There, gliding down from above, was the great fish. The megalodon soared over the reef, so massive its belly nearly scraped coral while the tip of its dorsal almost broke the surface.

  Meanwhile, the Front Desk phone rang while the employee normally at the desk was busy taking care of the restaurant crowd dumped on her by White. The huge fish turned at that moment and came back toward the window, gathering speed and momentum. Coco froze like a deer in headlights, knowing that this was it. If the megalodon hit the window full force it was going to shatter. What could she do? What can I do? Every neuron of her mind screamed the question.

  She glanced over at the entrance again, at the stout metal door protecting the rest of the hotel from the destructive forces she was about to take head on. Was there a release switch on the walls in here? Her gaze swept over the walls, even the ceiling, but came up empty. Desperate, she bent back down to the phone, and pressed the button for Topside Front Desk where there was more likely to be someone present.

  She pressed the button at the same time the megalodon’s great snout impacted with the Wet Bar’s acrylic wall, caving it in.

  Untold tons of water began to inundate the bar and restaurant, and Coco knew that she had seconds left to make what may very well be the last decision of her life. Where to be, what to do right now?

  She saw the most unbelievable sight she had ever witnessed in her young life: a prehistoric fish being dumped inside a
restaurant by a raging flood driven by the forces of physics to fill an engineered air bubble, a bubble that was keeping Coco alive, but not for long. Even in the face of the gargantuan predator, her fear was directed at the water itself. That frightful torrent.

  Chairs and tables were splintered into pieces, and exploded about the room like matchsticks, their metal and glass and wood fragments becoming deadly shrapnel. Water rushed inside the entertainment space, and Coco took the only available shelter from the brunt of the oncoming force: she ducked behind the bar itself. Though confronted with hopelessness, Coco’s mind grasped onto the only possible way to survive she could think of. A long shot, to be sure, but a shot nonetheless, and beggars couldn’t be choosers, right?

  She ducked beneath the bar, squatting on the floor while gazing up at the top of the window she could still see. If the bar structure was strong enough to hold up, it might shield her from the brunt of the rushing water’s force long enough to attempt to swim out through the broken window to the surface once the space had flooded.

  Coco hyperventilated as the water pounded into the bar, rapidly inhaling and exhaling to saturate her lungs with oxygen, thinking of her free diver ex-boyfriend in Hawaii as she did so. Things had not worked out between them, but he had taught her some things all the same, and this was one of them. Memories of better times soothed her a trifle, just enough to collect her nerves in order to perform the hyperventilation technique.

  Then the ocean was cascading over her, pouring into the space behind the bar, her sanctuary against the onslaught. The sound of crashing water and objects hurled against each other assailed her ears, so loud it made it difficult to think straight. Then the back bar area began filling with water, so much faster than she had anticipated, immediately to her waist, then a few seconds later to her shoulders in a swirling maelstrom of furious seawater.

  She looked up at the displaced window again, knowing that her vision was about to be severely limited. She wished she at least had her snorkel gear, but here she was without it, and there was absolutely nothing she could do except deal with it. Deal with it or die.

  Coco did her best to time her hyperventilation so that her last breath—the full one—would be completed a moment before she was submerged and would need to move. For once, Coco thought as she filled her lungs full to the bursting point, something worked out as she had planned. She felt her lungs stretch with the fullest breath she’d ever taken in her life, and then the water rushed over her head. At least it felt warm, not much different than the stale air inside the bar without air conditioning.

  She lined up her planned path from the bar to the open window as the sea closed over her. Then she kicked off of the floor, shooting up at a slant toward the gaping portal. A white, hazy light issued from beyond the broken window, and she propelled herself through the swirling water toward that. Making headway was difficult. She would travel forward a couple of feet and then be tossed sideways for ten, or pulled down onto some furniture.

  She kept going, kicking with her feet, and keeping her hands out in front of her as much as she could. To her left she saw a mammoth, swishing shape, and guessed it was the megalodon, wedged deep into the restaurant with the sudden influx of water. Instinctively she veered away from the blurry form, only to be caught in an eddy and washed back towards it. Eyes open in the salty sting of the seawater, she saw its blurry tail swing at her. Then she felt something extremely rough, like sandpaper, brush against her arm, shredding her skin.

  Thankfully, another bout of chaotic currents took her away from the trapped monster, sending her back toward the bar. Shark or no shark, though, Coco knew that lack of air was about to become a critical problem. She was exerting herself a lot in an attempt to fight the deluge, and she knew her time was very limited. Reaching the end of the bar, she kicked off of it straight across the floor, not attempting to angle up to the window as she had done before. The currents were slightly less for some reason when she took this path, and soon she found herself at the bottom of the ripped out viewing window.

  Looking up to verify she was about to kick off in the right direction, she saw the glorious sun penetrating the depths to the hotel, the great ball of light that signified the realm of air and land where she belonged. She kicked off the floor of the Wet Bar, now truly living up to its name, and passed cleanly through the open window frame into the sea beyond.

  As soon as she was outside the window she felt powerful forces buoying her upwards as the indoor space filled, and the water sloshed back against the sea, welling upwards. She tumbled head over heels as she spun off toward the surface. When at last she slowed she caught a glimpse of the megalodon inside the bar, turning, still swimming, seeking a way back outside.

  Her fear of the hunter outweighed her need to breathe, even though her lungs had begun to burn. She swam over the top of the hotel as she was lifted higher, to remove herself from the beast’s line of sight. Not that it needed sight to track her down. As a marine scientist, Coco knew the shark had a fantastic sense of smell, and that its electrical sensory organs, the Ampullae of Lorenzini, could likely detect her muscle contractions from some distance away. For the mighty megalodon, she was but another prey item to be sensed, tracked, and consumed.

  Coco scissor kicked her way up, feeling the strength of the currents grow weaker as she neared the surface of the lagoon. White spots swam across her field of vision as she moved through the water, her body’s oxygen reserves dangerously low. It grew lighter around her as she ascended, though, and that gave her hope, gave her the fortitude to continue, knowing that the surface was close by.

  Then her head broke through into the air, bright sunlight dazzling her eyes. She didn’t allow herself the luxury of gloating that she had made it out of the hotel, though. Not yet. Not when there was a sixty-foot shark only about thirty feet below her. She spun in the water, taking her bearings. She had to make the beach. There! The ribbon of white sand lined with tall coconut palms never looked so inviting as it did now.

  She swam toward the island, careful to avoid splashy strokes that would excite the mega-predator lurking below. She moved forward with a modified breaststroke, keeping her hands and feet below the water’s surface at all times, silent through the water. To keep her mind off the fear she knew was right there, lurking below the surface of her consciousness, she pictured James White’s face, and how she would pulverize it when she caught up with the bastard.

  He had tricked her into going back inside the restaurant just before the pressure door slammed shut, of this she had no doubt. There was no one in there who needed rescuing. He knew that! He only wanted her to go back inside so that he could trap her in there, and say it was an accident—oh, how terrible, the poor girl! Such an unfortunate string of events has befallen my perfect little hotel. But now Coco Keahi won’t be around to tell anyone the details of how James White let things slip out of control, how he wasn’t as careful as he could have been...

  She lost herself in these thoughts as she propelled herself toward the beach, forgetting about the megalodon, forgetting about how lucky she was to have escaped the hotel with her life. She focused only on how she would exact revenge on White. Her thoughts were grim, yet an effective distraction, for when she next raised her head above water to check her progress, she was rewarded with a much closer view of that gorgeous, white sand. Something, she didn’t know what, except some vague sense, compelled her to turn and look back toward the hotel. She wished she hadn’t, but there it was: a sail-like dorsal fin breaking the lagoon’s surface above the hotel...turning until it was perpendicular to the beach. Moving forward toward her...

  Swim! Silence no longer mattered. She needed speed at all costs if she was going to make it to the beach in time. She broke into a rapid crawl stroke that at one time had earned her a spot on her high school swim team, before she had grown bored of pools, and dropped out to spend more time free diving with her boyfriend, and doing long distance solo ocean swims. But she was grateful for the focus on
speed her competition days had given her, for she needed all the help she could get now.

  Coco pushed and pushed toward the island until she felt the knuckles of her right hand bash the coral on a downstroke. The pain told her she had made it. Land! She crawled forward, knowing the megalodon wouldn’t venture into such shallow waters, but terrified all the same of the imagery playing in her mind of big sharks skimming up onto wet sand in order to nab a seal. Was she one lunge away from being eaten?

  She saw no one on shore, no one standing there and pointing to the giant shark that might at this very second be opening its jaws to ingest her entire body. She was alone. When she felt her knees bump the bottom she began crawling fast on her hands and knees until she felt the soft squishiness of the wet sand on the beach. She hauled herself out onto the dry sand like a seal, flopping there, exhausted.

  She lolled her head to one side to look out on the lagoon. The megalodon’s huge dorsal was there, but still out by the hotel. It hadn’t followed her in to the beach. She supposed that it, too, had had enough excitement for the time being. But as she pushed herself up from the sand, she knew that there was much more in store for her today. White—that would-be murderer—was still down there in the hotel with all those people. Who knows who else he might decide to eliminate because he perceived them to be some sort of a threat?

  She had to do something, but she wasn’t sure what. Let people know what happened? Who? And what proof did she have? No one else heard White tell her to go back into the restaurant. It would be his word against hers, and who was she? Some recent college graduate, an entry-level worker, basically, while he was the boss, a seasoned professional.