“Good one! Good one!” Lenny proclaimed. The stout rod strained under the weight of the heavy fish. “This could be the winner, Reichert.” Lenny held tight as the big fish pulled line off the reel. It seemed intent on heading back to the bottom. Lenny muscled the fish, turning it and getting it to swim toward the surface. Suddenly, the rod shot down toward the water and then its stored energy caused it to spring back up in one instantaneous motion. The line had been severed.
“Son of a bitch. What the fuck is going on here, Reichert? You gotta check those knots.”
“Let me see the line, Lenny.” The captain inspected the area of the break and it became immediately apparent that the fish had bitten through the steel wire.
“These must be some bluefish, Lenny. The wire is severed again. It isn’t a knot failure.”
“Then put some stronger fucking wire on here, Captain. Let’s get with the program. That fish could have been first place and fifty large.”
Reichert remembered that he had some stronger wire in his gear bag. It was what he had used on his most recent shark fishing charter in Florida.
“If this doesn’t do it, nothing will,” Reichert announced as he tied and twisted the wire to Lenny’s line. “Two hundred pounds of wire shark leader. Nothing in this water can bite through it.”
“I hope so, Henry,” Lenny replied, feeling somewhat relieved and vindicated by the extra strength leader.
With all fishing rods re-rigged with shark wire leaders and baited with fresh chunks of bunker and mackerel, the two anglers waited yet again for the next fish to bite.
CHAPTER 39
Long Island’s “Biggest and Baddest Bluefish Tournament” was well underway. Based on reports Rick and Katie listened to on the VHF, many bluefish had already been caught. A fish of about seventeen pounds was atop the leader board. Fortunately, no strange incidents had yet to be reported. Unfortunately, Katie needed answers. Rick had decided to set up his chum slick in deep water, between Mount Misery Ledge and Mount Misery Inlet, the general location of one of the unexplained attacks. The chum bits had attracted large rafts of small baitfish, and only small, cocktail-sized bluefish had come in to feed on the bait. Both Rick and Katie knew full well the fish they were after could show up anywhere at any minute. Rick would give the slick more time to attract their intended targets, but he also wanted to make the rounds of the entire area so Katie could observe conditions on the water that might offer clues to their behaviors.
The VHF crackled to life, “Captain Rick, Captain Rick, come in Maya. Come in Rick.”
“Hi Valerie, Rick here. How goes it?”
“Going great,” Captain Russo replied. “We are a drifting between Eagles Neck and Sandill Point. I have a good slick going and Nick has a bunch of electronic devices hooked up: some transmitting, some receiving signals.”
Rick turned toward Katie and silently mouthed “Nick,” and then he winked. Katie shrugged her shoulders and just smiled.
“Great. Any worthwhile activity to report?”
“That’s a negative, Rick. Other than a ton of boats out here today, it has been quiet so far. If I did have action I would have called you on the cell.”
Katie grabbed the microphone. “Val, it’s Katie. Please tell Nick to call me on my cell. Thanks.”
“You got it, Katie. Will keep you guys posted. Talk later. Over and out.”
“Captain Russo and Nick. Pretty interesting pairing,” Rick said. “Maybe I had the guy figured all wrong?”
“Enough with his sexual preferences, Rick. Who gives a crap?”
Katie’s cell phone rang. “Hi, Nick. Did you bring any water sampling equipment with you?”
“Sure did, Katie.”
“If our killers show up in your slick, take some samples. I want to check for any traces of pheromones. Never know what we might find. And be careful.”
“You got it, Katie. I have a feeling these things may be more unpredictable or smarter than we think. Plus, all these boats and water activity may have affected their normal patterns. But then again, it may not. Stay tuned.”
“I’m right there with you. Talk later.”
Although all was quiet inshore where Katie and Rick drifted, it was a different story out where Lenny Kramer and Captain Reichert fished. They were enjoying nonstop action with big bluefish. Reichert’s decision not to move was paying dividends.
“Got to hand it to you, Henry. Your call was right on the mark.” Lenny was happy. It had been fish after fish for the past hour. He had a second big bluefish in the box and was fast to another. “We need a twenty-pounder to seal the deal. This one could be it, Henry.” When Lenny was in a good mood, it was Henry; if he was in a pissed off mood it was Captain Reichert; and if Lenny was in a really foul mood, then it was simply Reichert.
The bluefish on Lenny’s line fought harder than any of the previous fish. It was indeed the biggest of the day. It was the Fifty Gs trophy he had wanted. The fish never jumped like big bluefish do. It stayed deep and fought like a heavyweight. But Lenny knew this fish would be his. He sensed fatigue. The runs were shorter, there was less head shaking to try to throw the hook, and Lenny was gaining line back onto the reel. As the fish was brought up through the water column, Lenny and Henry got a first look at the huge shining body; light reflected off the bluefish flanks. The fish had a long, thick body and a broad head, well-hooked in a corner of the jaw. Yet the big bluefish refused to relinquish.
The alpha male and his pack sensed the struggling fish. The first signals to reach him were the vibrations being broadcast by the fish fighting for its survival. Those sensations bombarded the alpha male’s super-sensitive lateral line and directed him to prey like radar. The stressed bluefish emitted pheromones the alpha male recognized as indicators of fear. The pack of killer fish were now wired and excited. Once the alpha male homed in on the distressed fish and actually saw it, its own state of being transformed and it became wildly frenzied.
“Just look at that son of a bitch, Henry. I bet it is all of twenty pounds.”
“That’s a real trophy bluefish, Lenny. With a little luck, it may do the trick.”
Lenny was ecstatic. Not only was this the biggest bluefish he had ever hooked, but it could be his ticket to top-dog bragging rights for a year. He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Captain Rick McCord’s face when he put this fish on the scale. Up yours, hot shit fishing guide, he thought.
The big bluefish had begun swimming in a death circle and was on its flank, a sure sign of exhaustion. With each pull of the rod, the fish offered less resistance and came easily to the surface.
“Let me get the net ready,” Reichert said.
“No!” Lenny shot back. “I’m going to grab this bastard myself.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Lenny. That’s a big fish. Why risk losing it or worse yet, getting bit?”
“It’s totally beat, hooked solid, and I completely dominated it. Now I’ll add the exclamation point. I’ll snatch it right behind the back of the head and he’s mine—macho man style.”
Although Lenny certainly had the hand strength to accomplish landing the big fish in that manner, this was yet again a moment of a too large ego winning out over compelling logic. He had his mind set on this and that was it. Reichert knew better than to challenge him.
“Okay, Lenny, but let me take hold of your rod when you grab the leader.”
“That’s fine, Henry.”
The bluefish was just about eight feet under the surface of the water. A few more cranks of the reel handle and Lenny was able to grab hold of the leader. Reichert positioned himself to Kramer’s left, the side where Lenny held the rod. With the leader now in hand, Lenny gave the rod to Reichert and pulled on the line the last few feet to get the fish to the surface. Lenny’s prize was completely spent. It fought to the point of total collapse and its captor was poised to deftly grasp the big blue on the top part of the head and just behind the gills.
Lenny bent over the portsid
e gunwale. The alpha male watched from below. He and his pod circled thirty feet beneath the boat. The commotion generated by the tussle between Lenny and the bluefish had the killer fish agitated, aggressive, and hungry. They waited but they were growing impatient. The alpha male was locked in on the big bluefish. He would not let this opportunity pass as happened with the dog. This was an easy meal and one he would not let slip away. The other fish would follow is lead.
Lenny pulled the leader tight with his left hand so the bluefish’s head rested alongside the boat. With his strong right hand, the big man grasped his quarry’s large head. It was as large a bluefish as Lenny had ever seen. He held the fish with outstretched arm and shook it above his head as a gesture of conquest. Lowering his arm, he turned to the captain, “Henry, we did . . .” Before Lenny could compete the sentence, the alpha male rocketed from the depths. Reichert saw the monster first. His eyes froze on the creature. He wanted to scream a warning to Lenny but he couldn’t. Fear had taken hold. By the time Lenny turned around to face the fiendish creature, it was too late. With powerful sweeps of its tail, the alpha male launched its body from the water. The killer’s cavernous mouth was wide open, stiletto teeth ready to rip and shred. Momentum carried the killer upward as it engulfed the bluefish that Lenny had held moments before in triumphant jubilation. Lenny was face to face with the devil. Another strong push of the tail forced the alpha male farther out of the water and along a line that took it beyond the bluefish. The alpha male was eye to eye with Lenny as it bit down with immense force to sever Lenny’s arm just beneath the shoulder muscle.
Lenny screamed as the alpha male dropped back into the water with his trophy and his arm. Blood spurted from Lenny’s shoulder with each beat of his heart. Muscle, sinew, blood vessels, and bone were all clearly visible. Reichert finally gasped in horror.
“Do something, you pussy!” Lenny screamed with one of the last proclamations of his life. “What am I paying you for, Reichert?” Lenny was Lenny right until the end.
As the big man bled out from the fatal bite, his body began to spasm violently. Lenny involuntarily lurched forward into Reichert with such force that the two fell overboard. Lenny’s blood was like icing on the cake for the riled-up pod of killer fish. They savagely attacked and fed on the bodies of both men.
CHAPTER 40
Katie and Rick were disappointed. They spent much of the morning and early afternoon drifting in the Long Island Sound from Mount Misery Ledge west to Smith’s Bay, without a trace of the marine life they were hoping to see. Rick had checked in continuously with the other captains. They were all enjoying some good fishing but none had seen anything out of the ordinary. There were plenty of bluefish around but nothing that could qualify as the suspected mutant killers. Katie had suggested Rick make the run back to the east toward Plover Dunes and then move offshore to the middle of the Sound. Rick started Maya’s engines and steered a course east past Sandill Point. Captain Marrone gave him a high five, followed by a wave and a blown kiss from Captain Russo, whose boat was anchored among the rocks off the Old Colonial Lighthouse. As Maya approached the entrance to Port Roosevelt Harbor‚ an orange Coast Guard response boat blasted from the inlet on a course that zeroed in on Middle Grounds.
“Someone must be in trouble,” Katie said.
“Someone definitely is in trouble.” Rick watched as both the county marine patrol boat and the Port Roosevelt Fire and Rescue vessel also exited the harbor and trailed the Coast Guard boat in hot pursuit.
“Wonder what happened?” Katie said.
Rick didn’t have a VHF marine scanner on his boat but he knew who did. “I’ll give Sully a call. He’s got one on the big boat. . . . “Sully, it’s Rick. What’s with all the police and rescue traffic?”
“Seems there was an incident offshore near Stratford Shoal.”
“What kind of incident, Sully?”
“A passing fisherman reported seeing a boat adrift with no one on board and lots of blood on deck.”
“Any ID on the boat?”
“Yeah, Rick. A thirty-two-foot Yellowfin. Semper Victoris.”
Rick glanced toward Katie, with that oh shit look in his eyes. “I know one of the guys who was on that boat, Sully. Any word on the incident?”
“Negative on that that, Rick. If I hear more, I’ll let you know.”
“Ten-four Sully. Later.”
“It’s them, Rick,” Katie said emphatically. “I have no doubts. That guy Lenny got into them and it was all she wrote.”
“It must have been quite the scene with Lenny Kramer hooked up to one of those creatures. I’m surprised they didn’t spit the bastard out. But I kinda feel bad for his captain.”
“No time for sarcasm, Rick. Looks like the games have only just begun.”
“Maybe the Coast Guard will find them swimming around somewhere?”
“Not a chance in hell, Rick. If the fish were in a frenzied feeding state, it would be curtains the minute those two hit the water.”
“Want to head out there and take a look?”
“No. That pod of fish has fed and will be on the move. Let’s head farther east and then work our way back. Something has to break open soon,” Katie said.
“Okay. We’ll stay about a quarter mile off the beach heading east, angle out to the middle, and then work our way back inshore. That will give us a wide triangular grid area to search.”
The killer fish had indeed fed but for them, full stomachs only meant temporary satisfaction. Had Katie known what was taking place beneath the surface, she would have been beyond terrorized. Pods of killer fish ravaged prey throughout much of the central Long Island Sound. In total, there were several hundred monstrous mutants feeding indiscriminately on bunker, bass, small bluefish, and anything else that crossed their paths. When tearing through prey, they created an oily slick that floated to the surface, emitting a scent oddly reminiscent of watermelon. With all the blood, guts, and body parts that remained suspended lower in the water column, it was peculiar that such a pleasant aroma filled the air, like a perfume masking the stench of death.
The individual pods of fish continued with their macabre predation. They moved about the Sound and steadily joined an ever-building school of others of their kind. Their numbers grew as they amassed like an army and collectively fed. The oily slick also grew. A wide swath of the slimy emulsion did not go unnoticed. Captain Sully was at the helm of his party boat, the Port Rosey Princess, when he first spotted the growing slick. The melon-like scent wafted in the breeze and he knew something big was happening. Although his boat was packed with fares who were eagerly catching solid numbers of bluefish and striped bass, Sully knew a move was in order. He blew the boat’s horn signaling lines up and announced over the loudspeaker that he’d be making a short run and to get ready for some faster and even more furious bluefish action.
The Princess had traveled only about a quarter mile when Captain Sully pulled back on the throttle and coasted to a stop. All his electronic fishing finding equipment was lit up like a Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. Bait and game fish filled the screens. Many of the marks identified exceptionally large fish. Captain Sully once again blew the boat’s horn, but this time the blast signified lines down. In an excited tone, the captain blurted out instructions: “Get the diamond jigs to the bottom. Reel up ten to twelve fast turns of the handle and drop the jig back down; reel up again. Come on, come on. Tons of fish. You should be hooked up by now.”
“Fish on!” came first from the boat’s stern, repeated on midships and then in the bow. Within seconds, all anglers on board were fast to bluefish. The mates had their hands, full running from one passenger to the next to gaff their prizes. The scene was utter mayhem as Captain Sully hailed his other party boat to join the festivities.
Fares celebrated their good fortune, hooting and hollering in blissful glee as fish after fish came over the rails and onto a deck that now looked like a crime scene. The mates dutifully unhooked each fish and tossed them un
ceremoniously into coolers and buckets. They had to continually hose down the deck to rid it of regurgitated matter that poured from the mouths of bluefish writhing in final attempts to get back onto the water. A woman in the bow proclaimed she had a big one on and needed a mate’s assistance. Her fishing rod strained under the pressure of a large bluefish struggling on the surface of the water. She pulled back on the rod as hard as she could just as the killer fish surfaced and grabbed her bluefish. The line severed and the rod shot back, releasing all its stored energy. Smack! The rod struck her in the face and broke her nose. As blood streamed down her cheeks, two anglers positioned on either side of the startled woman stood flabbergasted. It was soon their turn to encounter the demons. Both their rods smashed down onto the rails and shattered as huge horrific heads emerged and cavernous mouths gobbled down the bluefish they had hooked. They gasped at the sight and backed away from the rail as two huge forked tails disappeared under the boat with their fish and their fishing rods.
The scene on the Princess was now pandemonium. Rods broke, people screamed, huge unknown fish surfaced all around the boat terrorizing passengers and crew alike. Captain Sully had never seen anything like it. He stayed calm despite the brewing bedlam and instructed all anglers to bring in their lines immediately. Sully had gotten a good look at the creatures and he now knew they were what Katie was after. He hastily dialed Rick’s cell.
“Rick, it’s Sully. All hell just broke loose. We saw Katie’s killers.”
“Where are you now, Sully?”
“About a mile north of the lobster pots, off Sandhill Point.”
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