The Ocean King: A Deep Sea Thriller

by Russ Watts

  At this, Amanda had wanted to run home crying in despair. The pressure was on to really deliver, but Diablo had so far shown no interest in anything. Don and Hamish had reassured her they had her back, but it was enough to put a dampener on the mood. Amanda and Hamish had swiftly left, leaving Don to contemplate the day on his own. He had arranged passes for the media and booked an extra marquee. There were always more turning up to these events than were supposed to, and Zola didn’t want to piss anyone off, so they had agreed to erect an extra tent. All leave had been cancelled for the next week, and Don had secured a special license for his guards to carry weapons. Zola still insisted they were not allowed to carry them around the park, and Don had been forced to compromise. The guards could be armed, but they were to hang back out of sight, and only react to an emergency if she, or Don himself called it.

  After leaving the Grill, Don had headed home, but didn’t feel like a frozen pizza, and so looked for somewhere to eat. As he settled into his booth at the Korean restaurant around the corner from his flat, he felt rueful. At tables all around him, were couples and families. He had chosen to come here, telling himself on the way that it was because he needed to try something new, to break his routine. Now that he was here, he wished he had simply gone back to the Old Station. Meghan would be there. He didn’t really know what he would say to her when he saw her, and that was half the reason why he was now choosing between the Kimchi Deopbap or Bibim noodles, when he should be sat at the bar talking to her and nursing a beer.

  He looked through the menu as the waiter approached, confounded by the list of wines. “You have any beer?”

  “Yes sir, we have Cass or Hite if you would like to try a Korean style beer? Of course, we have the regular beers as well.”

  Don ordered a Cass with a Kimchi stew. The restaurant was a short walk from home, yet, he had never been here before. Tonight he saw a smattering of diners, barely enough to pay the rent, but enough to mean it didn’t look weird and empty from the street. There was something a little too formal and awkward about dining in a restaurant alone. He wished again he was at the Old Station, listening to some old Springsteen while drinking a good old fashioned American beer.

  What are you doing drinking something called Cass in a family restaurant? Coward. It’s not the frozen pizza you’re scared of, it’s the reality that this thing with Meghan might actually lead to something.

  Whilst he ate his meal, his phone rang. It was another unknown number. The last phone call he’d taken hadn’t gone so well and he was wary of answering it without knowing who was calling.

  “Don here.”

  “Don, hi, it’s Taggart. Not interrupting, I hope?”

  Don literally breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t really expected his mother to call again, certainly not in the next ten years, and he half expected it to be a hospital telling him there had been an accident. He had spoken to his uncle a few times in the last few weeks, what with his cousin moving down to the area, but certainly wasn’t expecting to hear from him now.

  “No, I’m not doing anything. What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to know if you’d heard from Ryan? I asked him to give you a call when he got settled in.”

  “Can’t say that I’ve heard anything. You want me to check up on him? I know a few people at the base I could contact.” Don hoped he wouldn’t have to. He did know people there, but he kept them at a distance. It was a life he didn’t particularly want to return to.

  Taggart laughed down the phone. “I’m not surprised. No, don’t worry about it. I gave him your number though, so let me know if he gets in touch.”

  “Sure.” Don buried a fork full of pork and rice into his mouth. Taggart didn’t respond straight away, and it was unlike his uncle to be short of a few words. There was clearly something else on his mind. “You okay? Look, if you want me to check on Ryan I can, it’s no problem.”

  “No, it’s not that. I was just watching the news, and well, you work at Wild Seas so you must know what’s going on. What’s this Diablo thing? The station up here says it’s probably a giant squid, but I was talking to Jim next door, and he says it’s Chimera. He always was short of a fruit loop though, so I don’t take much heed of what he says. I got the Bugle spread out in front of me with a picture of something. I can’t tell what the heck it is. Looks like it’s got some teeth on it. What you got yourselves down there, bigfoot?”

  “Uncle Taggart, if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  Laughter echoed through the phone to Don’s ears, only this time it was not so genial. “You take care, Don. Sometimes, things are best left alone. Don’t go messing around with things you don’t understand. I don’t know about bigfoot, but we don’t have to be able to explain everything away with science. Something with teeth like that? I’m just saying I hope its bark is worse than its bite.”

  “Thanks, Taggart, I’ll be fine. We’ve got more guns trained on it right now than the Middle East.”

  Another laugh from his uncle, but Don could hear the nervousness too. His uncle had twenty years on him, yet, he sounded like he was twenty years his junior. “Well, I’ve held you up long enough. You and your mother doing okay?”

  Don scraped together the last of his meal and balanced it on his fork. “We’re fine. Goodbye, Taggart.” Don ended the call and ate his last mouthful. He washed it down with the Cass and then decided to call it a night. The phone call had set him on edge. Was it the talk of Diablo? It was true, they were going out on a limb; they were exposing thousands of people to it, and they didn’t know anything about it. The stadium held five thousand people and there would be more than that at the park that night. Zola was having a special stage erected so she could stand directly above the tank and do a presentation with Diablo right beneath her. If all went well, she was going to invite the mayor, and anyone else who was brave enough, to come and get a close up look at the new species that only Wild Seas had. She was also going to charge fifty dollars to anyone who had their photo taken with it. Don knew they were likely to make more money tomorrow night than they had in the whole of the summer season.

  Don paid and left the restaurant. The streets were quiet in this part of town and he had a choice to make. Go left and go home, or go right, and go to the Old Station. Tempting though it was, he wasn’t in the mood for company anymore. Taggart had lifted the scab, and now he needed to scratch it.

  Don crossed the street and walked a few blocks as the evening turned to full dark. He knew the way by instinct, he had walked it so many times, yet, he couldn’t recall the names of the streets he walked down, or the shops he passed if his life depended on it. He wanted a drink, but Mama Kitty’s was dark and closed up for the night. A bum on the street corner looked up as Don passed and waived a book in his hands. “Repent. Seek His forgiveness. God is waiting for you!” Don ignored the ramblings of the homeless man and pressed on. He had no time for Bible stories today, any more than when he’d left home.

  Soon the coffee shops and chain stores gave way to 7-Elevens and garages. He stopped to buy a bottle of Stolichnaya from an Indian grocery that had more stains on the ceiling than the floor. From what, he couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to know. The large man who served him wrapped the vodka in a paper bag, wished him a good evening, and Don carried on down increasingly smaller roads.

  Large houses with green lawns gave way to smaller houses with concreted driveways and six by six patches of mud that passed as gardens. There was a chill in the air, and he turned up his collar before shoving his hands into his pockets. He found himself on a familiar street and rested on a red letterbox. The streetlights were on, but he didn’t need light for what he wanted to see. Don huddled under a palm tree and sipped from a brown paper bag. The house at the end of the driveway was asleep, its lights out, curtains closed, standing immense and proud, protecting its only occupant.

  Where are you?

  Don let the vodka take the chill away and he decided to check the letterbox. There was nothi
ng but junk mail: flyers for the local churches ‘kitten-adoption day’ and invitations to ‘earn $1000’s working from home at your own pace.’ He took another cautious sip and ventured up the driveway. Nobody was around, he was quite sure of that. The driveway was sheltered on one side by a row of trees, and they gave Don the perfect hiding place should anyone question him. As he made his way up to the front door, each step slower than the last, he became aware that he had no idea what he would do when he got there. Was he supposed to knock? Was he going to stand there and just stare at it? Like a zombie, Don slowed to a shuffle and his feet scuffed the ground until he came to a complete stop, six feet from the door.

  What are you doing? She doesn’t want you here. The house doesn’t want you here. Can’t you feel it? Leave her alone.

  “I want to go home,” he said quietly. “I want…” Don guzzled down more vodka and stood swaying in the driveway of his old home as crickets jumped around him and flies swarmed to the streetlights.

  I want to make it right. I want him back. I want to see him again and say sorry. I want…

  Don looked at the spot where he had found his dead father almost forty years ago and a tear fell down his cheek. It hadn’t changed in all that time. He bent down and traced his fingers along the asphalt.

  Where are you? I want…

  Don felt in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He grabbed a fistful of twenties and went back down the driveway, away from the house and its memories. He stuffed the money into the red letterbox and left.

  OCTOBER THURSDAY 18TH 23:41

  As Don relaxed on the couch with a cold beer, the vodka bottle half empty at his feet, he tried to focus on the television. A cop was kneeling on the back of a youth whilst locking him in handcuffs. Bored, Don flicked through the channels aimlessly. He skipped over another reality show, a police drama, a game show, a makeover show, another reality cop show, a hospital drama, and a bunch of teenagers grinding to something on MTV. He let the dross sink into oblivion until he found something interesting and paused over CNN. The pictures were blurry and the newsreader’s voice kept fading away, but it caught his attention.

  “Speculation is rife…San Diego’s most…experts… do we even know if Diablo…discovery is…” The programme was abruptly interrupted for an advert for a new Chrysler, before the anchorwoman returned. She was accompanied by an image of carnage that carried a warning that the images were not suitable for younger viewers.

  “If there are any young viewers in the room, please look away now,” Don said before turning up the volume. He yawned, getting bored. The attractive anchorwoman was holding his attention, even if the news was getting tiresome.

  “Harold Wintermeyer reports on the mystery of Seal Island. This was recorded just a couple of hours ago from Ucluelet, British Columbia.”

  “This grisly discovery has only just come to light, and so the timeline of events has not been established yet. A colony of seals appears to have been wiped out, with no sign of any survivors. The small island they inhabited, near the quiet town of Ucluelet, is desolate now, decorated only with the bodies of the seals that once lived here so peacefully. A town spokesperson said they had no reason to believe anyone would intentionally harm these normally placid creatures. The town is in shock tonight. You can see from the amount of blood on the rocks here that something terrible has happened. These seals did not just get up and leave, but something forcibly removed them. Just what, remains to be seen.”

  “Harold Wintermeyer there with that report.”

  Don gulped down a beer as the blonde woman with dark eye shadow and too much blusher, fluttered her eyelash extensions at the camera.

  “Whilst large migrations are not uncommon, Seal Island is a permanent colony, and the tragic events we are learning of are estimated to have taken place sometime in the last twenty-four hours. The colony is not monitored, and it was only when a tourist boat visited the island today that the grisly discovery was made. Horrified tourists were quick to tell us their stories and theories, as Judy Budett now explains.”

  Don tuned the television off and yawned.

  “You want to play now? It’s getting kind of late, you know.”

  Don’s apartment was drenched in silence. The clock on the wall ticked, oblivious to Don’s statement.

  “Okay, um, right, here’s one.” Don stood up unsteadily. “Somewhere out there is the beast, and he’s hungry tonight.” Don closed his eyes. “Yeah, I know, too easy. Well shit, it’s my favourite war film. Don’t try to tell me it’s not yours. Fine, think you can out-quote me, go head. Make my day.”

  Don laughed and picked up a beer. He cracked the top off it on the chipped coffee table and slumped down into the sofa.

  Go to bed. Put the bottle down and go to bed. You don’t need this.

  “Your turn.” Don rested his head back on the sofa and then spoke. “My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius. I am…I am…” He frowned and took a gulp of beer. “I am commander of…”

  Don stood up again. “Okay, okay, you got me. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke. “Look, we can’t play games all night. It’s been a big week, you know, don’t you think we should talk about it? You know, it’s just, what? No, I didn’t mean that. Yeah, well, it’s a pretty big fucking monster. Did you see it? Jesus, I nearly crapped myself. I thought Amanda was exaggerating when she told me about it.” Don spread his arms apart. “It was this big, man.”

  He laughed again and chugged back the rest of the beer before helping himself to another. The bottle cap flew off into the TV and the coffee table scored another hit. “Yeah, she is. I know. Well, you can’t, she’s spoken for. Spo-ken for.” He drew the last words out slowly.

  Go to bed. What would Meghan think of you now? She hates you. She knows what you did. Everyone knows what you did.

  “Plus, you just can’t. You know why. You know why, don’t you?”

  The clock kept ticking, and nobody answered Don.

  “Shut up. You know why. You fucking know. Don’t be… You know. YOU KNOW! YOU FUCKING KNOW WHY, BECAUSE YOU’RE DEAD. YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD!”

  Don threw the bottle against the wall and it smashed, showering the floor with broken glass. He collapsed down onto the sofa and stayed there until his mind swam out into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 9

  OCTOBER FRIDAY 18TH 08:34

  Warm sand flooded into his mouth, choking him, stifling his cries, and filling his lungs. The sand burned in his throat, scratched his oesophagus, and Don couldn’t breathe anymore. His arms tried to grab the last of the harsh sand reeds as he sunk, but they slipped from his grasp, cutting and slicing through his palms. Choking on the burning sand, Don closed his eyes and the world turned a hellish, fiery black.

  “Who…”

  Thumping sounds from the front door disturbed Don’s dreams and he was pleased they had woken him. He didn’t want to know what came after the blackness. He peeled himself up off the sofa and looked at the time. “Shit, I’m gonna be late,” he mumbled.

  As he shuffled over to the door, he trod broken glass into the carpet. He still wore yesterday’s clothes, and pulled a sharp wedge of glass from his shoes. He discarded it on the coffee table and pulled open the front door.

  “Mrs Barkley?” Don kept one eye closed and the other squinted, as he looked at the stern face of his neighbour through the doorway. Brilliant sunlight streamed over her head and burnt through his retina to his brain. She wore a light grey cardigan and shawl, and despite it still being early, the temperature was already easily in the nineties. “Everything all right?”

  Mrs Barkley tried to look past Don into his apartment as she spoke. “No, Mr O’Reilly, it is not. Are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?”

  “No, why would I…”

  “There was quite a party going on last night. I heard shouting and glass breaking. I thought you might have had trouble. Are you quite sure everything is all right? I didn’t know if I should call the police.”

  “Oh, that.
I’m sorry, Mrs Barkley, it was just a movie, and…I dropped a bottle of wine. I hope you got some sleep. Really, really sorry about all the noise.”

  “Don, you don’t look well. And might I say you don’t smell too well?” She turned up her nose and tried once more to look past him into his apartment. Luckily for Don, she had not brought her glasses with her.

  Don could smell himself and it wasn’t an agreeable odour that he was giving off. The alcohol was coming out of his pores, and he knew he was going to have to shower quickly. “Mrs Barkley, I have to get to work. Was there anything else, or…”

  She presented him with a small plate wrapped on foil. “I know you’re a busy man, Don, so I brought you a piece. I was saving it for you. I confess I’ve had the rest myself, it was too good to waste.”

  He peeled back the lip of the foil and peered inside at the large slice of apple pie. He smiled, knowing that once he closed the door he was going to eat it in three seconds flat. Her baking was almost as good as her nosiness. “Thanks, Mrs Barkley, you’re a life saver. I could kiss you.”

  Mrs Barkley raised her eyebrows and looked at Don disapprovingly. “You’ll need some mouthwash before I stick my tongue in your mouth.”

  Don watched her turn around and she left using her walker for support. Had she just said that, or had he imagined it? He smiled wryly as he closed the door.

  Without bothering to sit down, he ripped off the foil and ate the apple pie, still cold. His stomach had been growling and turning over since he’d woken, and he was beginning to feel a bit better already. What Mrs Barkley had said about the noise last night was worrying. He did remember breaking the bottle, but shouting? Who had he been shouting at? He remembered watching the news, but little else. If she had called the police, it would’ve been embarrassing to say the least.