Toothy jaws spread, the creature accelerated straight up behind the fleeing whale and lunged savagely forward.
This time it went for the whale’s flukes.
FIVE
Early the following morning, Jake loitered by the docks. He leaned against the wooden railing bordering the marina, shifting his weight and picking at an annoying splinter that dug into his forearm. His gaze lingered on a nearby throng of pleasure boats, anchored in their berths. An eerie morning mist wafted off the harbor’s waters, the smell of fresh ocean air mixing with the distinct odors of diesel fuel and rotting fish.
Oblivious to the gradually awakening businesses springing to life behind him, Jake focused his attention past the sheltering docks, out toward the fog-enshrouded sea. Below, a pair of shrieking gulls fought over the putrid head of one of the largest barracuda he’d ever seen. Other seabirds began to gather, eager to join in the floating feast. He grimaced at the squabbling birds. His jaw muscles bunched up and a too familiar frown crept across his bronzed face.
He focused on the fog. Overnight, a pea soup-thick layer of the stuff had blanketed the sound like a snowdrift, whitewashing everything in sight and posing a hazard to boaters and jet skiers alike. The fog was incredibly dense, heavier than it had been in years. The last time he saw weather like this he’d been in a helicopter, flying toward the worst day of his life.
Jake flinched as the unwelcomed images jabbed into his brain. He sensed himself begin to stagger and made a frantic grab, his nails digging into the railing’s rough wood. He gave a low gasp as he saw Sam’s face, eyes wide and terror-stricken amidst the swirling blackness. She was flailing wildly, her limbs thrashing against the suffocating pressure, her mouth poised to scream . . .
Jake shuddered, and with effort freed himself from the awful image. He leaned heavily on the rail and gulped a deep breath, cursing as he glared back at the fog. He realized something wasn’t right. He could feel it clawing cat-like in his gut, a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. He dismissed the possibility of a pending squall. South Florida’s violent storm season was hardly in effect, and other than the usual sporadic showers, the forecast for the rest of the week looked remarkably good. It most likely wasn’t trouble brewing in town, either. To the best of his knowledge, as of the previous evening no problems had presented themselves.
Frustrated, Jake finally shrugged it off. He turned away from the railing and began clomping back along the dock, the worn wooden deck boards creaking loudly beneath his heavy work boots. He checked his watch. It was 7:30 a.m., and still quiet at the marina. Only fishermen and their charters were up and about this early in the morning, and most of them had already left the harbor. With half an hour to go before Chris Meyers was due to show up – assuming he wasn’t late again – Jake began to stroll toward the Cove Hove for breakfast. He was halfway up the gangplank when he heard a familiar voice.
“Why, Jake Braddock, how the hell are you, young fellow?”
Turning toward the voice, a rare smile flashed across Jake’s rugged features. “Captain Phil! Hey, I haven’t seen you all season. How are you?”
Jake walked over to the grizzled charter captain. The old man was dressed in shorts and a faded t-shirt and was seated in the fighting chair of a docked Bertram. Still smiling, Jake stepped over the vessel’s gunnels and took his hand in a firm handshake.
“I’m hanging in there, Jake,” the elderly fisherman said. “Some days are better than others. You know how it is.”
“I do indeed, Captain Phil.” Jake nodded, still smiling, and gestured at the big boat. “So, how’s the Sayonara treating you these days?”
“This old rust bucket?” Phil chuckled, thumping the Bertram’s teak flooring with one foot. “She’s like me, a little worn out, but somehow still managing to keep afloat!”
As Jake settled back onto the transom of the vintage fishing boat, the old man’s grin sent him spiraling back in time. He was fourteen years old again and waking up to what promised to be a gorgeous, sunny Saturday. It was day one of his highly anticipated summer vacation, and he wanted to enjoy every moment of it. He planned on fishing every minute, torturing the unwary residents of the canal behind his family’s home with his newfound angling skills. He had a sweet rod and reel combo waiting for him that he purchased with the money he saved doing odd jobs. He also had a fancy, stake-in-the-ground rod holder, to keep it from being pulled in by some oversized bass or channel cat, a fully loaded tackle box, and an aerated bait bucket as well.
Jake smiled and rolled lazily onto his side. Everything was going to be great. He’d won every fencing meet he entered for the last twelve months, and his parents were thrilled. More importantly, they were getting along. Best of all, as long as he did his chores without being asked, his father acted surprisingly civilized – meaning he wasn’t pushing him around.
The sudden thump of a car door caused Jake to open his eyes, interrupting his thoughts. He leaned groggily up on one elbow and glanced through the blinds next to his bed. He checked the sun’s position and looked at his alarm clock. 7 a.m. It was still early, and the day was full of promise. He sat up and stretched, smelling the heady fragrance of a nearby grove of orange trees wafting through his open window.
Voices, punctuated by another slamming car door, caused Jake to peer outside. To his bemusement, his mother and father were lugging cardboard boxes and oversized suitcases to the family’s well-worn Bronco, loading them into its spacious cargo area. When he saw his father carrying his golf clubs, Jake grew animated. He sprang out of bed, put on his slippers, and made his way downstairs on quick kitten’s feet.
His mother was holding the door as his father carried two weighty cartons outside. She looked up as Jake approached, her smile a warm and welcoming one.
“Jake, you’re up,” she beamed, rushing over and hugging him.
The screen door banged shut as John Braddock disappeared outside.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Jake asked sleepily. He rubbed his eyes, looking confusedly at their disheveled kitchen and pantry.
His father abruptly reappeared in the doorway. “Your mother and I are taking a trip,” he announced with a grin.
“A trip?” Jake gazed alarmingly at the empty kitchen cabinets. Their doors were ajar, their shelves stripped. It looked more like the family was moving.
“Yes, sweetie,” his mother said. “Your father got an unexpected invitation to spend some time with his relatives in South Carolina, hunting and fishing and discussing a possible business venture. He’s taken a leave of absence from work.”
“Am I going with you?”
“Sorry, kiddo,” his father interjected. “It’s adults only.” His smile broadened. “Don’t worry; we’ll only be gone four weeks.”
“Four weeks?” Jake echoed. His jaw dropped.
“Actually, it’s only three and a half, sweetie,” his mom said, noticing his flustered expression. “You’re going to be fine.” She pointed at the coffee table. “There’s an envelope there with plenty of money for groceries, and a number where you can reach us if you need anything. I made you some sandwiches, too, so you’ll have something to eat while you’re fishing the canal.”
“Um, thanks, Mom,” Jake managed. His head shook involuntarily but he tried to appear calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Inwardly, however, he was frightened and confused, his head spinning at the sudden change in events. A month by himself? He’d never been left alone longer than an overnight. How would he get to the store? Who would look after him? Who was going to clean the house?
John Braddock wrestled the last suitcase out and popped back inside. He turned to his wife. “Okay, darling. I think that’s about it. Did we cover the entire checklist?”
His mom checked her notepad. “I think so . . .”
“Great. Why don’t you go get yourself situated, dear? I’ll go over our list of do’s and don’ts with our deputy sheriff here.”
“Sounds great,” Jake’s mother said. She
gave him a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek, holding his face with both hands. Her smile was wide, but there was a hint of nervousness about her. “Don’t be scared. You’re gonna have a blast. And if you need anything, we’re just a call away.” She kissed him on the forehead and pulled reluctantly away. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom,” he mumbled. He stood there in a daze, watching her walk away. It felt like she was walking out of his life. He couldn’t believe this was happening. And he didn’t know what he was going to–
The moment his mother was gone his dad leaned over and snatched up the envelope of cash. He opened it, counting out three hundred dollars in twenties, and put it in his pocket.
Jake turned pale. His surprised inhalation was a fear-filled gasp. “W-what are you doing?”
His father looked over and gave him one of his trademark smirks. “What, you thought I was gonna leave you all this money so you could blow it on the arcade or more fishing tackle? Oh, no . . .”
Jake tried to speak but couldn’t. Next, his father looked amusedly at the phone number his mother left.
“You won’t need this, either,” he said, his eyes cold and hard. He crumpled up the paper and put it in his pocket, too.
“But, what am I supposed to do?” Jake stammered. “How am I supposed to eat?”
“You’ll find a way,” John Braddock remarked. “Maybe you can eat all those fish you planned on catching all summer, goofing off.”
Jake glanced wildly at the door, his breathing shallow and rapid.
“Don’t even think about it,” his father warned. He rested one hand on the teen’s shoulder with frightening pressure. “Don’t cause your mother any trouble before we leave.”
His bloodshot eyes bored into his son’s.
Jake’s head wilted toward the floor. He swallowed hard and nodded.
“Good,” his father said. He headed to the door. “Look at it this way . . . maybe the next few weeks will make a man out of you.” He shook his head in disgust. “God knows following in your mother’s footsteps with all that fencing crap sure hasn’t.”
John Braddock walked out without saying goodbye. Jake heard the truck’s door open and close and the big V-8 start up. He stood statue-still as cold fear ran through him in uncontrollable shivers.
Suddenly, the Bronco’s engine turned off. He heard his father’s heavy footsteps draw near and his heart did handsprings in his chest. Maybe this was all just a joke, or some sick test? Maybe his dad was giving him back the money, or maybe they were taking him with them, after all?
John Braddock walked in, shaking his head. He ignored Jake and moved wordlessly to the refrigerator. He opened it and emerged with the plate of sandwiches his wife made. He looked at Jake and grinned.
“Something for the road,” he chuckled. “You know how hungry I get during long drives . . . told your mother I gave you some extra cash to make up for it.”
His father guffawed as he let the screen door slam hard behind him.
The boy stayed where he was, listening as the Bronco moved out of the driveway. The sound of its noisy engine gradually faded until there was nothing – nothing but the sound of the morning breeze rustling through the trees, bringing empty promises with it. He waited a full five minutes before he sat down and started to cry.
An hour later, Jake dusted himself off. He gathered his wits about him and decided to assess the situation. Things were far grimmer than he feared. He discovered his father had thoroughly ransacked the house in his quest for provisions. A thirty-minute search garnered the teen only a can of olives, two cans of beans, four eggs, some moldy flour and a half-stick of margarine. With his savings already spent on fishing tackle, he was penniless. He tore through the house like a whirlwind, searching under couch cushions and in drawers and cupboards, hoping to find some secret stash of money. He came up with only $11.23, most of it in nickels and dimes.
Jake decided to go on the offensive. He refused to just lie down and die, as his father undoubtedly expected. He would survive, but in order to do that he needed to do what grown-ups did. He needed a job. He cleaned himself up and got dressed. It was ninety-six degrees outside, and a six mile walk to town, but he didn’t care. He bolstered his courage, filled a bottle with water from the tap, pulled on his sneakers, and started out.
Six hours later, Jake found himself sitting alone on the wharf of Paradise Cove’s newly renovated marina, defeated and dejected. He kicked at a loose deck board in frustration, his face contorting as he painfully stubbed his toe. His attempt at finding gainful employment had been a complete waste of time. He’d tried them all: stores, shops, even souvenir stands. They all said the same thing – he was too young and no one could hire him. He was starting to feel like a Jehovah’s Witness, with door after door being slammed in his face. He was exhausted and hungry and faced with a hellish walk home, on feet that were already blistered.
“Say, there, young fellow. Why so glum?”
Jake looked up to see an old man staring down at him. He was of medium height, probably sixty, though his weathered skin and features made him look ten years older. His leathered limbs looked frail, but his eyes were as sharp as knives. They were a shark’s hide gray, but kind.
“I just had a bad day,” he replied, not really wanting to talk.
“How so?”
Jake’s mouth opened and closed like Pac Man’s. He considered telling the stranger his problems just to let off steam, but his pride decided against it. “Just some bad luck, that’s all.”
The old man studied him intently. His gaze grew weary after a bit and he sighed and started to turn away. “That’s fishing, kid. Get used to it.”
Jake’s ears pricked up. “You fish?”
The old man turned back, gunmetal eyes glinting. “Oh . . . you could say that.” He grinned, pointing over his shoulder at a big canyon runner docked some fifty feet downwind.
Jake was on his feet in a millisecond. “Holy cow! Is that your boat?”
“Sure is,” the old man chuckled. “Name’s the Sayonara. Had her for ten years already.”
“Wow. She’s a beauty.”
“You fish?”
Jake gave a small nod. “A little. Freshwater mostly. Just got my first new rod and reel, but it looks like I won’t be able to do much now.”
The old man frowned. “Why not? Beautiful day. Weather’s perfect.”
Jake looked downcast. He exhaled heavily. “I gotta find a job.”
“Your parents told you that?”
“Sort of . . .”
“What’s your name, kid?”
Jake looked him in the eye. “Jake Braddock.”
The old man extended his hand. “I’m Captain Phil Starling. How old are you, Jake?”
Jake stood up straight and shook his hand. “Fourteen. I’m big for my age.”
Phil looked at him, nodding approvingly. “You’re an honest man, Jake. I like that. Wanna come work for me?”
“Are you serious?”
“Heck, yeah. These days the Sayonara’s too much for me to handle by myself. Been thinking of hiring myself a first mate. You’d be doing me a big favor by taking the job.”
Jake’s eyes began to widen, but he reined himself in. “Hmm, that sounds workable. What’s the pay?”
Phil’s eyes twinkled and he smiled. “Forty bucks a day, plus one half of whatever tip the charter gives.”
“Sounds great!” Jake exclaimed. “When can we start?”
“Actually, I’ve got three guys going out tomorrow. They’re regulars. Can you be here at 6 a.m.?”
Jake was grinning ear to ear as he shook hands with him again. “You bet, Captain Phil. I’ll be here!”
Phil tousled his hair and turned to leave. “Sounds great. See you in the morning, kid. And don’t be late. We’ll see what kind of fisherman you turn out to be!”
Jake nodded and watched him go, before turning to start the arduous six-mile hike back. It took him two hours, but his feet didn’t bother him
one bit. Surprising, considering that he skipped along for half the distance. When he got home, only his face hurt. But that was from smiling so much.
He was still smiling and nodding as his thoughts wandered back to the present. Phil Starling had proved to be a good mentor and friend at a time in his life when he needed one most. He was a fair and generous employer as well. Those carefree summers were the best of Jake’s life, and a small part of him still regretted not becoming a charter fisherman. When he left for college he’d missed Phil terribly. After losing Sam and returning to Paradise Cove, the old man was one of the first people he looked up. That was when he found out about his leukemia.
“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Jake said, managing a lie. “You know how the old saying goes: ‘Time spent fishing is not deducted from one’s allotted lifespan.’ You should be around ‘til judgment day!”
“We’ll see, matey,” Phil said, turning toward the open water.
An uncomfortable silence settled between the two friends.
“So, what are you going out for?” Jake pointed at the huge rod his former employer was holding.
“Giant bluefin,” Phil said keenly. “I got word of some big schools moving through the sound last night. Monsters – six or seven hundred pounders, maybe more!” He smiled excitedly, winking at Jake. “We’re talking some serious sushi dollars, if you know what I mean. Anyway, we’re stocked up and ready to roll. I want to be out there when the tide shifts so we can have a good shot at one.”
Jake grinned. One thing he knew about addicted-for-life fishermen, no matter how sick or exhausted they felt, the prospect of catching a marine monster the size of a Honda Accord always got a rise out of them. Of course, fighting a fish with that much size and power was a risky proposition even for the very young . . .
“You did say, we?” Jake looked anxiously about. “You do have someone going with you, I hope?”
“Oh, sure,” the old man said, shifting uncomfortably in the hard chair. “Oh geez, I’m sorry, Jake. I forgot my manners. Hey, Stevie! Can you come up here for a minute?”
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 9