The MEG

by Steve Alten

  “Oh, God... oh my God,” cried Adashek. The terrified reporter attempted to drown himself by gulping seawater, only to puke.

  With a bluster of coughs, Alphonse DeMarco opened his eyes. Unaware of where he was or what was happening, he started swimming toward Terry.

  “Al, stay there. Don’t swim … don’t even move.”

  Terry fought to catch her breath as the Meg’s gargantuan head broke the surface twenty feet away, revealing the peppered-black ampullae of Lorenzini beneath its hideous snout. A pink band of upper gums widened, exposing a row of massive triangular teeth rooted in its upper jaw, the human flesh from its last snack still caught between several fangs.

  Terry gritted her teeth, tears in her eyes as she readied herself for a gruesome end to her life. “Bitch … I should have drowned you when I had the chance.”

  The Abyss Glider leapt out of sea behind her, momentarily blotting out the sun before the six hundred and fifty pound submersible and its pilot landed on the Megalodon’s snout, blood spurting from its wounded left nostril.

  The AG-I stalled for a brief second. The moment its propeller caught water, Jonas slammed his palms down on both joysticks, whipping the mini-sub hard to port and away from the snapping jaws.

  Like a mad bull, the Megalodon plunged below the waves to give chase.

  The Glider’s dying battery was costing him at least ten knots of speed, allowing the Meg to gain on him.

  Where to go?

  Lead her away from Terry, away from the others.

  Jonas felt a bump from behind as the shark rammed his mini-sub’s tail fin.

  Banking hard to starboard, he shot to the surface, altering his angle of ascent a few seconds before the Abyss Glider corkscrewed out of the water like a Spinner dolphin—

  —the leaping Megalodon right behind it, its jaws snapping empty air.

  The predator flopped blindly back into the ocean, its thunderous splash rivaling that of the largest humpback whale. Unable to relocate the Abyss Glider, the Meg descended, searching for the telltale vibrations of its prey.

  *

  Terrified but suddenly given a survivor’s chance in Hell, Terry watched as a large trawler appeared in the distance.

  It had taken a wad of cash and a signed agreement from Andre Dupont guaranteeing the Cousteau Society would pay for any damages to his trawler before the fishing boat captain agreed to head out to sea to rescue the Kiku’s crew.

  They had reached the crew aboard Leon Barre’s lifeboat first, the Kiku’s captain directing them to where their shipmates had been tossed into the sea. Several minutes later they arrived at the gruesome scene—nine survivors floating in lifejackets, the Meg nowhere in sight.

  Terry Tanaka was pulled on-board first. She tried to stand but the stress had sapped her strength and she collapsed on deck. David Adashek vomited from the stress. Alphonse DeMarco and several other shipmates fell to their knees, all thanking their maker for sparing their lives.

  *

  The Abyss Glider was powerless, the last leap having depleted the batteries, the indicator clearly in the red. Jonas’s heart pounded as the Megalodon descended, searching for his craft.

  It was eerily quiet, save for the sound of water lapping against the sub’s buoyant tail assembly and its pilot’s labored breathing.

  A sickening feeling overcame him as the Lexan nose cone gradually dropped, the glider’s horizontal status changing to an inverted vertical plane, causing the blood to rush to Jonas’s head.

  This isn’t happening …

  Jonas stared into the deep blue depths, the blood pounding in his temples, his hands trembling.

  Get out of the sub, J.T. Do something different … change the dream. Move, damn you!

  But he couldn’t move—he was paralyzed in fear...defenseless. All he could do was stare at the flickering beams of sunlight filtering below, waiting for the angel of death to reappear.

  And then Masao’s words came back to him. “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”

  “I know my enemy,” he said aloud.

  His hands shook as he deliberated.

  Sometimes the best defense is a good offense. Do it, J.T. Don’t wait for the Meg to attack, bring the fight to her.

  Reaching to the sonar array, he pushed the active button, the sub’s dead battery releasing one final, fading PING.

  At four hundred feet she appeared … the stark white face, the satanic grin. It was seven years ago and he was back on the Sea Cliff...it was seven hours ago and he had dreamt this very moment—a premonition warning him about his impending, gruesome death.

  Acceptance comes when there are no other options.

  Two hundred feet.

  Jonas reached forward with his right hand and grasped the lever, turning it counterclockwise.

  One hundred feet …

  The Megalodon’s mouth hyperextended open.

  Now.

  Jonas bellowed a guttural, primordial yell as he pulled the lever back, instantly igniting the hydrogen fuel, transforming the powerless Abyss Glider into a rocket, blasting it straight down through the Megalodon’s open gullet past fluttering gill slits and an archway of cartilaginous ribs before disappearing down a widening dark orifice into gelid blackness.

  Hell

  ANDRE DUPONT STOOD BY the fishing trawler’s port rail, watching in awe and more than a bit of trepidation as the most fearsome animal ever to inhabit the planet ravaged the surface of the ocean a hundred and thirty yards to the east, the creature in obvious pain.

  Terry approached the scientist, wrapped in a wool blanket, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had seen the fuel ignite, knew what Jonas had done. At that moment, she realized how deep her feelings had been for him … and now, like her brother, he was gone.

  Leon Barre was arguing with the fishing trawler’s owner in the pilothouse, warning him that the boat’s engines would attract the monster. The older man swore at Barre, swore at Dupont, but decided it might be best to shut down the motor.

  *

  The Megalodon’s digestive system was relatively short but infinitely flexible. After food entered its gullet, it passed through the esophagus where it reached a sphincter, a contractile ring of muscle that regulated what could and could not pass into the stomach. Almost everything that could pass through did, processed by powerful acids secreted from the stomach lining.

  The Meg’s stomach represented twenty percent of its entire girth. The muscular walls of the organ contained longitudinal folds which allowed it to expand or contract like an accordion. Another sphincter guarded the duodenum—the beginning of the small intestine. Located inside the duodenum were a series of folds known as the spiral valve. Similar in shape to a corkscrew, the spiral valve rotated within the Meg’s small intestine like a Slinky, providing an immense absorption area for the shark to maximize the nutrients of its meal.

  The unusual shape of the organ also served another purpose—anything that could not be properly digested could be regurgitated. During this violent act, the shark’s stomach actually turned inside-out so that it protruded from the creature’s mouth like a pinkish balloon, evacuating the contents of its digestive system to the sea.

  *

  The flames emitted from the Abyss Glider’s hydrogen burn had blistered the female’s gill arches. Circling rapidly, the Megalodon’s jaws heaved open in a sudden, violent spasm, its insides attempting to vomit the eight-foot capsule from its stomach.

  *

  Jonas was slammed back into consciousness, the escape pod heaving in darkness, flipping again and again as the Megalodon’s involuntary muscles attempted to regurgitate the capsule back out through its esophagus. But the opening was too narrow, the glider’s nose unable to align correctly with the spasming sphincter. After a dozen attempts, the spiral valve retreated, the escape pod settling within its alien, pitch black confines.

  Jonas trembled in the darkness, his hands searching through a zippered pouc
h by his left leg. Locating the flashlight, he aimed the powerful beam out the Lexan nosecone.

  “Oh, Jesus … oh, God.”

  The light revealed the blistering pink insides of an organ swirling with partially-digested muck. Thick, hot, fist-sized chunks of mutilated whale blubber slapped across the acrylic cone. Jonas felt queasy, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from looking. He could discern the remains of a porpoise’s head, a sneaker, several pieces of wood, and then something that made him gag.

  It was the upper torso of a human. The face was badly burned from stomach acid but it was still recognizable...

  Danielson.

  Jonas’s belly gurgled, his scream cut off by the rising vomit. The walls closed in upon him, and he convulsed in fear. The sub shifted hard to one side, rolling with the sloshing remains of Taylor’s former commanding officer as the host descended into the depths, attempting to quash its pain.

  *

  Bud Harris stood in ankle-deep water in his yacht’s engine room, waiting impatiently while the chopper pilot who had attacked his vessel ran a compression test on one of the motors,

  “You’ve been at this long enough, Mackreides. What’s the verdict?”

  Mac wiped grease on his damp jumpsuit’s pant leg. “You’ve got no compression coming from your cylinders. The explosion must have damaged your head gasket.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “Not under these circumstances. Tell you what; if we live through this I’ll give you a coupon for five free quarts of oil with your next engine.”

  “You’re a funny guy. Restart the pump, funny man.”

  Mac flipped the toggle switch. The pump churned, vibrating the entire vessel as seawater was forcibly expelled from the floor of the engine room.

  “Kind of loud, isn’t it Harris? According to the husband of your former lover, noises like this could actually attract the Meg.”

  Mac turned to find himself staring at the business end of a .44 Magnum.

  Bud pointed the gun at Mac’s head. “Let’s head out on deck and see if Jonas was right.”

  *

  Jonas struggled to breathe, his nerves trembling amid horrific scenes of human carnage the likes of which could not be imagined. This was beyond claustrophobia, this was hell.

  “Stop it! You’re alive … you can reason. Find a way out.”

  He forced himself to slow his breathing, then used the flashlight to check the hydrogen fuel gauge.

  Thirty-seven percent left … maybe enough for a five second burst. It’s not enough to burn my way out, but I bet I can give it some serious indigestion.

  He located the lever, held his breath, and pulled.

  Nothing.

  He pulled again and again, but was unable to ignite the remaining fuel.

  Okay, okay, stay calm. There’s fuel in the tank, the igniter must have come loose.

  Releasing his harness, he twisted around in the escape pod, aiming the light outside the craft at the remains of the glider’s tail assembly.

  Sure enough, the hose connecting the igniter switch with the external tank had been pulled loose.

  A calm resolve began to settle over Jonas. He had a plan—a lottery chance at surviving an impossible circumstance, but it was there, and it was more than Maggie had, more than Danielson.

  Relax, J.T. It’s just a walk in the park.

  Rolling onto his side, he opened the two storage compartments below his hammock and removed the dive mask attached to a small pony bottle of air. He secured the mask to his face, then twisted open the cylinder, making sure he could breathe normally. Locating a pair of rubber gloves, he slipped them on to protect his hands.

  He was ready.

  Flipping around, he unscrewed the escape hatch, the rubber housing hissing as it lost its suction. Pushing the circular Lexan door open, he poked his head out of the opening, shining the flashlight into the darkness.

  The mini-sub was lying in a confined chamber of smooth muscle with no discernible top or bottom. Caustic digestive excretions designed to break down food into fuel were being secreted from an unknown source. Though he could not tell through the breathing mask, the smell had to be overwhelming.

  Jonas crawled out of the glider, closing the hatch behind him. His rubber boots touched down on the stomach lining, giving him the sensation of stepping on a surface of molten putty. A thick hydrochloric acid oozed from unseen pores.

  Wasting no time, he turned his attention to the sub’s tail assembly.

  *

  Bud Harris pushed the barrel of the gun to the back of Mac’s neck, forcing him up the steps and out to the main deck.

  “Heller? Danielson?”

  Mac pointed. “The Zodiac’s gone. Looks like you chose the wrong bedfellows.”

  “I don’t give a damn about those two idiots. That monster destroyed my life, took the one person I truly cared for. It continues to haunt me, preventing me from sleeping, preventing me from living. I could have ended some of that torture today, only you had to interfere.”

  Bud stepped back, motioning for Mac to walk toward the starboard rail. “Go ahead.”

  “Go ahead and what?”

  “You wanted to save this monster, now you can feed it.” Bud fired the Magnum, the bullet striking Mac in his right quadriceps muscle, blood oozing from the wound.

  Mac collapsed to one knee in agony. “Are you crazy?”

  “I want you off my boat. Get back in the water and bleed or I’ll shoot you in the other leg.”

  Mac moved to the rail. He climbed over gingerly, attempting to stall. “This is called murder. You know what they do with murderers in the state of California, Richie Rich? They lock them up with guys like Charles Manson.”

  “Only the poor ones.” Bud aimed the barrel of the gun at Mac’s head. “Jump in or die.”

  Mac jumped.

  Bud waited for him to surface. “Now start swimming.”

  Mac eyed the horizon—spotting a fishing trawler half a mile to the east.

  Might as well be a million miles away …

  *

  The captain of the fishing trawler had seen enough. The Megalodon was gone, and the Frenchman, his female assistant, and the Filipino boat captain could go screw themselves.

  Restarting his vessel’s engines, he headed for shore.

  *

  The female moved just beneath the thermocline, the colder, deeper water cooling the burning sensation within its inflamed gullet. Agitated, she attacked every motion that attracted her senses…a passing school of fish, a sea lion—

  The surface vibrations sent ripples coursing along her lateral line. Locking onto the new stimulus, the Meg ascended in a steep vertical climb, targeting the disturbance.

  *

  Jonas managed to reattach the igniter hose to the hydrogen fuel tank when his feet were pulled out from under him as the Megalodon rose to the surface, its stomach rolling ninety degrees, catching him in an avalanche of partially-digested refuse.

  Suddenly, he was sliding feet-first down a steep incline rendered slick by an abundance of whale oil. The undigested contents of the Meg’s stomach piled up beneath and all around him. Aiming the light below, he saw to his horror that the muck was slowly draining down a three-foot-in-diameter expanding orifice.

  The intestines! Get sucked down there and you’re a goner.

  Rolling onto his belly, he fought to stop his momentum, but was simply unable to establish a handhold on the oil-slick surface.

  Making matters worse, the Abyss Glider was now on top of him, riding him down the slope.

  A sickening feeling overcame him as he felt his feet enter the slime-covered sphincter all the way up to his knees. Desperate, he tore open the chest-pouch of his bio-suit and removed the six-and-a-half inch Megalodon tooth. Gripping it by its root, he stabbed it into the stomach lining above his head, praying it would hold.

  The sharp point pierced the thick surface, the tooth’s serrated edges forging a grip.

  Hip-deep in the int
estinal opening, Jonas stopped sliding.

  The rest of the avalanche of undigested human flesh, whale oil and blubber did not, burying him alive. He held on as long as he could, the escape pod’s weight pressing down on the back of his arm and skull, pinning him against the stomach lining.

  *

  Wrapped in a blanket, Terry stood alone by the port rail weeping for Jonas, when the fishing trawler’s keel was suddenly struck from below, the bone-jarring impact rolling the boat thirty degrees to port, tossing her into the sea.

  *

  Jonas was about to lose his grip on the tooth when his surroundings went topsy-turvy again as the Megalodon descended, the hot wave of refuse washing over him like a receding tide.

  For a bizarre moment he hung suspended upside-down, the sphincter muscle guarding the creature’s intestines still suctioned tightly around his knees. But his bio-suit was drenched in whale oil and the lubricant, combined with his weight, was too much.

  Jonas slipped free, plunging fifteen feet to the opposite end of the stomach, landing in a soft, molten pile of goop, his gloved hands fighting to keep from losing the flashlight and Meg tooth pinned against his chest.

  The sub was close by, lying on its side. Regaining his feet, he gripped the Abyss Glider by its tail fins and managed to roll it back onto its belly.

  Gasping deep breaths, Jonas rested against the damaged chassis, making sure the igniter hose was still connected to the hydrogen tank. He must have been anatomically close to the Megalodon’s pectoral fins because he could feel the shark swimming, its side-to-side action orientating him to his surroundings. Turning to his left faced him forward in the direction of the Meg’s head, which meant the esophageal opening had to be close.

  Using his light, he located the sphincter designed to prevent food from escaping the stomach.

  The idea came to him in an instant. Slogging through the refuse, Jonas pocketed the tooth, then reached beneath the escape pod and gripped the mini-sub’s mechanical arm, using it as a handle to drag the Abyss Glider through the waist-deep muck to the esophageal valve.