by Russ Elliott
“How can they not, based on the facts?” Kate said, disgusted. She tossed the empty bottle into the garbage can.
“Admiral Henderson insists the so-called movement after death was probably caused by underwater currents. He even disputes the homing device, saying that its accuracy is highly debatable.” John pulled a chair in front of the computer desk and muttered, “The thing is . . . his argument sounded convincing, but his tone did not. He doubts it too.”
Kate walked out of the kitchenette. “Guess all we can do is wait until tomorrow and see what turns up when they drop down to look for the carcass. We both need to get some sleep, so let’s wind it down for tonight and start fresh in the morning. I’m going out back to prep the chopper. Back in a few.”
After Kate closed the door, John took a seat in front of the computer. He switched it on, thinking back to the beginning of this bizarre assignment. When he’d first heard the prophecy on the island, he dismissed it as nothing more than tribal folklore. But a lot had happened since then; things that were gradually turning him into a believer. There was a mention of shed blood and the strange part about the full moon. But what haunted John most of all was one Zulu word spoken by Kota, the meaning of which he did not know: necala.
Once online, he did a search for a Zulu translation dictionary. He keyed in the word, spelling it phonetically. The translation floated on the glowing screen: guilty.
~~~
The small fishing boat slowly cruised alongside a dimly lit dock off Pearly Beach. Kota continued to look for a place to tie off the boat while Kolegwa stared awestruck at all of the strange people and their foreign attire. A young man pulled his bikini-clad girlfriend to his side and leered back at them as if he did not approve of Kolegwa’s gaze. Kota blew him a kiss and laughed.
Finally, Kota spotted a slip near the shore. Pulling closer, their attention shifted to a roaring sound over their heads in the night sky. The two tribesmen watched as five naval helicopters flew in formation past the Seaside Hotel and headed inland.
Kota stepped across to the dock and tied off the boat. Kolegwa looked up and said, “They find Kuta-keb-la!’
“Do not worry!” replied Kota, turning his attention to the full moon glowing above the night sea. “Tonight is only the beginning!”
~~~
Thoroughly exhausted, John sat in a wooden chair in the airport office, staring at a small television. The walkie-talkie was silent, balanced on his thigh. He peeled off his damp, tattered shirt and tossed it on the floor. His naked back was littered with the cuts and bruises from his rescue at the pier.
He clicked over to another station. Like the others, it showed a reporter at a location he would never forget. The young black woman stood on a dark shoreline, while behind her searchlights scoured the ravaged Pier 16. It all seemed surreal. Broken pilings protruded hideously from the sea while hundreds of planks washed in and out with the tide.
The reporter summed it up with a dramatic tone. “Yes, you heard it right. Numerous eyewitnesses claim to have seen a reptilian creature—massive, estimated at eighty to one hundred feet long—demolish the pier behind me. A gruesome attack that would have claimed a second life had it not been for a heroic rescue from an unidentified bystander.”
Heroic rescue, John scoffed, and he dropped his head, his elbows now balanced on his knees. His efforts were not near enough. He vividly remembered the daughter screaming for her father who’d been a victim on that pier. If I’d only gotten there sooner, she would still have a father. If only . . .
He looked back up at the television. He didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to hear more, but he couldn’t look away.
The reporter glanced at some notes in her hand then looked straight into John’s eyes.
“Many are linking this to yesterday’s Montanza tragedy. Even before tonight’s attack, fishermen who claim to have seen the creature under the net, all insist it had paddle fins.” She then went on to explain briefly how marine reptiles that’d swum by this means of propulsion hadn’t existed for millions of years. “Now, we’re going to take you live to Professor Lenny Brennan at the South African Museum in Cape Town to help shed some light on what this mysterious creature may be.”
John slid his chair closer to the television. The camera cut to an elderly man, maybe in his sixties, with a long, gray beard. The camera pulled back to reveal an enormous set of reconstructed pliosaur jaws set up just behind him.
“Oh yeah. It’s way outta the bag now,” John muttered.
A female reporter held a microphone in front of Professor Brennan. His voice was gruff, and his words were clipped, matter-of-fact. “Pliosaur—meaning ‘greater lizard’, was a prehistoric marine reptile, one that we thought to have been extinct for over sixty-five million years. However! . . . much more than ‘just a reptile.’ Note the jaws.” He stepped back to give the camera a better view of the jaws.
The professor then picked up a huge, black, fossilized tooth from a table.
“A giant possessing the most formidable teeth in the animal kingdom,” he said, turning the tooth in his hand. “The reptile could reach a length of sixty feet or more. Undoubtedly, the greatest predator in history. And I believe this creature is swimming off our southern coast. This very minute!”
“Professor, what makes you so certain?” asked the reporter.
Returning the tooth to the table, Professor Brennan stepped closer to the jaws. “In the last few days, there have been at least nine eyewitnesses to the beast. The two lads and young woman on the speedboat yesterday, the surviving surfer from the Jeffrey’s Bay attack, and then only hours ago, five more witnesses from the Pier 16 incident—all who claim the creature they saw was at least eighty to one hundred feet long. Considering that the largest marine croc ever actually measured was only twenty feet long, and did not possess paddle fins, this particular creature must be a pliosaur.” Ignoring the reporter, he eyed the camera with his wrinkly glare and concluded, “There is simply no other logical explanation!”
The reporter pushed for more answers. “So, assuming this creature is a pliosaur, would this be big news in the world of marine biology?”
“Marine biology?” Professor Brennan spat and gave a resounding “Hhha!” to punctuate his opinion. “This is brilliant news the world over. Nothing short of finding a living T-rex roaming through the jungles of Africa, young lady. Already, I’ve heard from dozens of paleontologists from around the globe who are catching flights to South Africa tonight. After today, the history books will have to be rewritten!” He jammed a finger into the air.
John watched the wrap-up and muttered, “Well, Admiral Henderson, looks like you’ve finally got your Black December.” He flipped to another station and paused. The moment he saw the young blonde’s hypnotic blue eyes, his body tensed. How vibrant she looked in the photograph compared to the woman he saw only hours ago reaching up to the helicopter. He could still see it clearly: flesh hanging from her torn body, the terror in her eyes as the pliosaur circled her. He thanked God that her family would never know how horribly she suffered before the creature finally killed her.
The woman’s image moved to the corner of the screen to bring another female reporter into view. “Also among the reported missing from the wreckage discovered this evening is Amy Lawrence. At twenty-two years of age, she is the wife of the vessel’s owner, Chris Lawrence. Both being retired lifeguards, the couple owned and operated Lawrence Bait & Tackle on Pearly Beach.”
John’s heart sank, and his eyes immediately glazed over with tears. He’d finally reached his breaking point. The reality of the nightmare stared back at him in Amy’s blue eyes. Three kids out fishing for tuna, slaughtered in the prime of life. He lowered his gaze, staring blankly at the floor. The burning rage inside him, the only thing that had kept him going, disappeared. There was nothing left but sorrow.
The reporter continued, “In a possible twist of fate, we’ve just been notified that last October, Chris Lawrence was fined for finning shark
s.”
“Finning sharks,” John whispered as his gaze rose back up to the TV screen.
Guilty.
The word from the prophecy echoed in his mind and realization crept into his eyes. He looked through the window at the full moon, and a chill ran up his spine. Had he completely lost his mind, or was it all starting to make sense?
~~~
Finished with chopper prep, Kate headed back to the office. Swinging open the door, she saw John sitting in front of the television. She stared at his naked back, knowing the scratches were incidental compared to the deep scars he carried inside. Then she saw what was on the screen—the young lady they could not save. Her heart broke, knowing John was reliving every moment of the nightmare, one of many he could not save.
Stepping closer, she saw a long gash on his shoulder. Kate gently slid her fingertips beside the wound to take a closer look. It could require stitches. She didn’t mean it as a romantic gesture, but when John reached up and took her hand, she didn’t mind. Kate leaned forward. Their fingers interlocked for a moment, then released, and her hand slid down following the contours of John’s chest. Leaning closer, her hair fell down around his bare shoulders, and her lips gently touched his neck.
John’s fingers were lost in her hair.
Her lips followed the outline of John’s neck until they met his in a long kiss. He leaned his head back, fully giving in—respite from the torment, Kate supposed. More . . .
In the heat of the moment, he pulled away. His eyes were riddled with guilt, confusion.
Kate sighed and stood up, pulled her hair back in place. She pointed to the television. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Haven’t you seen enough?” she said firmly, and reached over to turn it off. “Let’s give this a break for a while, shall we?”
John grabbed her hand with a look of panic. “No, don’t! Something new could turn up, prove it’s still alive.”
“Listen,” Kate said. “You weren’t there with the demolition team, and the Navy insists they got it. Besides, Nathan hasn’t picked up a signal in over an hour. Can’t you even entertain the possibility that the creature is dead?”
John didn’t utter a sound.
As if taking a child’s toy, she removed the walkie-talkie from his lap and placed it on an end table. “We can at least put this here. It’s still in earshot, so you won’t miss it if Nathan calls with another signal.” She eased back on the edge of the table, arms crossed in front of her, and looked at him curiously. “Earlier, after trying to depth-charge the creature, you mentioned something . . . that whole ‘playing a hand’ bit . . . what were you getting at?”
John stared at the black screen on the TV. “Tonight, I dropped that depth charge square on its throat . . . and nothing. Now, the Navy swears they killed it . . . but the transmitter inside the beast suggests otherwise.” He gave a sardonic laugh. “What would all of the world’s great scientific minds make of that?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Maybe science doesn’t hold all of the answers.”
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Come again?”
“Once released, that thing could have easily returned to the open sea, never to be heard from again. But it didn’t. It turned up here—just like the tribesmen prophesied. I didn’t quite understand parts of their prophecy until tonight when I looked it up—the meaning for the Zulu word ‘necala.’ Kate, it means ‘guilty.’ The prophecy says, Before the first full moon, the blood of the guilty will be shed to mark the beginning. Then innocent blood will fill the sea.”
Admittedly, the words painted an ominous picture. Kate felt herself shiver.
John added, “Tonight was the first full moon since it was released.”
“Okay.” She nodded with growing concern.
“Listen.” John had a crazed look in his eyes that Kate had not seen before. She nodded again and John continued, “Look at the first major attacks. The Montanza . . . remember the activists protesting the cruelty of the nets that trap dolphins and other sea life . . . and the way the tuna are butchered? Then the fishermen at Dyer Channel—both of them men who have illegally slaughtered sharks for decades. What do these two incidents have in common?”
Kate threw her hands up. “You got me.” Still, she felt the answer just beyond her grasp, drawing nearer with each word John spoke now.
“Can’t you see it? In the villagers’ eyes, they were defiling the sea. It’s just like they prophesied. These victims are the necala—the guilty, whose blood would be shed first. Before the first full moon!”
“I think you’re stretching things a bit, John,” Kate said, and she saw his eyes flare with frustration.
“No, I’m not, Kate. Somehow it all marks the beginning of the prophecy!”
Clinging desperately to her comforting voice of reason, she quickly countered, “Hold on!” She rose from the end table. “For all this tribal mumbo jumbo to hold up, one of the next attack victims would had to have been guilty, by the full moon, tonight . . . right? That would have been the elderly bloke on the pier, or the three mates out fishing for tuna. How were any of them guilty?”
John pointed to the television. “Afraid I was just getting to that,” he said blankly. “Just saw the three kids from the boat on the news. Two months ago, they were busted by the Navy.”
“Busted for what?”
“Earlier tonight, looks like they tricked us; all that blood on their deck . . . they were really finning sharks.”
Kate’s heart skipped a beat, but she tried to maintain a realistic demeanor to balance John’s emphatic claims. “What are you saying? Are you implying that this is all part of some divine retribution; that God would actually side with those savages?”
John looked away. His eyes shone in the night. “On the island there’s a huge clearing sprinkled with fifty or so painted conch shells. Each shell marks the grave of a child . . . a child that died after eating fish tainted from a chemical spill. Then you factor in decades of over-fishing, dredging the seabed for all she’s worth, endless pollution. Take a good step back and look at it all. Who are the real savages?”
His eyes slowly rose to her. “If God were to side with the innocent, what makes you think that’s us?”
Kate kneeled to face John. An empathetic look in her eye. “Look, I know you’ve been through nothing less than a living hell, and I’ve been right there with you, I have! But those attacks had something else in common, and do you know what that is?”
John waited.
She finished, “They all had fresh blood in the water. That’s what drew the creature to them, not some tribal prophecy . . . right?”
John fought her argument as she’d expected he would. “But you saw it, Kate—the look in its eye. Then the way it waited to butcher that girl in front of me. I’ll give you this, though. You’re right about one thing: whatever it is, it’s not from God. It’s straight from hell.”
Kate blew some hair out of her eyes with a long sigh. Stubborn. She glanced at her watch, effectively ignoring his last comment. “Look, I almost forgot . . . I have to run out and get something.” She ruffled his hair as she passed. “Try to get some rest, John. You’ll send yourself to an early grave next if you don’t.”
“That’s rich!” John said with a genuine laugh.
“What?”
“We’re chasing the most lethal predator in history . . . and you’re worried about lack of sleep taking me out.”
Kate shook her head and headed for the door. He’s absolutely impossible.
~~~
The dark figure of Kota stood at the edge of the Seaside Hotel parking lot, staring out to sea. He waved to Kolegwa who was carrying the two briefcases along the dock. “Come, we don’t have all night.”
Brakes squeaked behind them, and Kota smiled. “Ah, our ride is here.” They turned to a black Jeep that had just pulled into the parking lot. As they approached, a door cracked open, and a man’s sandaled foot slipped out. Kota unsheathed his machete and
raised it behind his back. He spoke in Afrikaans, “Sir, could we trouble you for a lift?”
Chapter 10
TOP STORY
John continued to flip through the channels in amazement. He knew that once the story broke it would be big, but he had no idea! In the last half hour, he’d seen at least six different paleontologists discussing the possibility of pliosaur’s existence. There were numerous interviews with the two boys on the speedboat and the eyewitnesses from Pier 16. And everyone was an expert; there were endless theories on relict, mutated, and genetically altered crocs from every oddball in South Africa.
Then there were the reports on the news from Cape Town International Airport showing frantic ticketing agents trying to deal with the amount of booked flights. Tomorrow scientist and curiosity seekers from around the world would be flooding the terminals. Even worse were the hotels. Already they were saying that it was impossible to get a room in Cape Town. Practically the entire city was booked.
Flipping to another station, John saw a female reporter standing on a crowded shoreline. Behind her was the now infamous red speedboat with the huge bite mark in its stern. The reporter was saying, “As you may have heard, the small vessel behind me was allegedly attacked late yesterday by a creature of gigantic proportion. Already, the enormous bite mark in the boat’s stern and testimonies of those on board are making headlines across the globe.”
A photograph of a young man appeared in the corner of the screen. “Yesterday, naval authorities were quick to classify this sighting as a hoax. But many dismissed the ‘hoax theory’ when Ron Fernan came forward. You may recall Ron as being the survivor of an alleged shark attack that claimed the life of Dorian Anderson two days ago while they were surfing near Jeffrey’s Bay. According to Ron, the creature that attacked them was no shark, but of the same proportions described by the boys in the speedboat as well as by witnesses from tonight’s Pier 16 attack.