High above, the creature studied the squid. Though not hungry, the sheer size of the prey item instilled a palpable inquisitiveness within the prehistoric titan. Such squid were dangerous and difficult to capture, requiring a stealthy approach and a last moment burst of speed, before the oversized mollusk could utilize its jet propulsion and obscuring ink cloud to escape.
With a shrug of its flippers, the creature drifted on. It was beginning to feel the need to surface and turned its scar-covered muzzle in the direction of the distant light.
Just then, the squid shuddered.
The marine reptile paused, watching with undisguised interest as it spasmed, rocking back and forth and lashing out with its arms in every possible direction. The convulsions worsened, and the squid began to drift in an unnatural manner. It appeared the mollusk’s sense of equilibrium no longer functioned properly. Despite a full belly, the creature was beginning to become aroused.
Suddenly, a blast of sound waves swept through the watery void. The creature reflexively scanned the surrounding darkness for the source of the alien sonar. A thousand feet up, a fast-approaching life form emerged. It was warm-blooded and of similar size, akin to the sulfur-bottomed colossus the creature recently slew. Unlike the plankton-feeding blue whale however, the newcomer was a predator like itself, possessing huge jaws lined with teeth designed to impale large prey. The creature stole toward the intruder, scanning it repeatedly with its own sound waves.
Oblivious to the creature’s approach, the intruder continued to home in on the squid. The creature moved closer as the other animal descended past it at a steep angle, still focusing on its prospective prey. The newcomer possessed the same sound emitting sight as the creature, but kept its underwater vision focused only on the struggling squid.
Despite the new predator’s slothful attack speed of only twenty miles an hour, the squid did not flee. It continued to loll in a confused manner, its numerous arms darting and lashing violently at nothing.
A snarl-like grimace creased the creature’s wrinkled muzzle, revealing scores of razor-sharp teeth. A red-hot rage flooded its mighty chest cavity, as the thought of a rival predator daring to challenge it for food sank into its primeval brain. The newcomer was a competitor, and evolution had taught it and its kind the best way to deal with competitors.
Destroy them.
With all four of its flippers working to accelerate to full speed, the creature charged through the void, hurtling directly toward the unsuspecting whale.
Jake stood atop one of Harcourt Marina’s main docks, a few rows from his boat slip. In the distance, he could identify Amara Takagi by her long, dark hair as she climbed the boarding ramp leading to the Harbinger’s main deck. From what he’d gleaned, she and her crew were slated to spend the next two weeks at sea, testing out their new submersible on nearby sperm and killer whale populations.
Jake cocked his head to one side as he watched Amara disappear from view. The lady whale doctor was definitely unlike any woman he’d ever met. Despite an air of fragility, she was athletic, intelligent, and quite beautiful. Strangely, she was either aloof to her own attractiveness or viewed her looks as a detriment, rather than the asset they definitely were. All that mattered to her was science and whales. He amusedly imagined she must’ve caused quite a few sleepless nights among the marine biology geeks back in grad school. His eyes crinkled up in amusement, picturing study hall jammed to capacity.
Smiling, Jake turned to make his way down to the Infidel to wait for Chris. It was nearly 8 a.m. and the marina was already infested with its omnipresent plague of seagulls, their cries for handouts a perpetual source of annoyance for local inhabitants.
Jake checked the time. Ah well. Back to work. As he made his way toward his patrol boat, he was surprised to find his deputy already on board, his gear stowed and feet propped up as he sat back and drank his coffee. Noticing his employer’s surprised expression from fifty feet away, Chris raised his cup in mock salute. He held up a second coffee and smiled.
Jake grinned at the stunt, and at the irony. He couldn’t begin to count how many times he’d done the same thing for Phil Starling ten years earlier, to make up for oversleeping or an occasional lapse in judgment. He might not be a charter captain, and the Infidel was certainly no fishing boat, but the poignant parallels between him and his young deputy were undeniable.
A hint of movement caught Jake’s eye and he clocked the Sayonara. She was a hundred yards out, chugging through the no-wake zone that bordered the marina. He could see Captain Phil standing at the helm, pointing at something as they went and spouting instructions to his nephew. Knowing better than to waste time shouting, Jake tried in vain to get his former mentor’s attention by waving his arms. Disappointed, he stood by and watched the big Bertram pick up speed, eventually disappearing from sight.
As the well-known charter boat faded in the distance, Jake felt apprehension wash over him yet again. He shook his head. Of all people, Phil Starling could certainly take care of himself.
As Jake arrived at the Infidel he reached over the gunnels, shook hands with his cocky deputy, and accepted the proffered coffee. “It’s dark and strong this time. Very nice, kid,” he said. He held the cup steady, slowly sipping the steaming beverage. “Wow, you’re on time and I still get good coffee? Either you dumped your nasty girlfriend or you’re bucking for a raise.”
“Actually I did, and I wasn’t, boss,” Chris stated. “But, um . . . do you think I could get one?”
An ominous glance from Jake silenced him without further ado.
Chris glanced over Jake’s shoulder at an approaching mountain of a man dressed in denim overalls. “Watch your back,” he said.
Jake turned to see a heavy-breathing Ben Stillman plodding toward him with a purposeful expression on his face. “Oh brother,” he muttered.
“Hey Sheriff . . . glad I . . . caught up to you,” Ben huffed and puffed, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath.
Jake stared down at him, reflexively recoiling as he was enveloped by a combination of bad body odor, even worse breath, and the stench of rotting bait.
One of the least popular inhabitants of Paradise Cove, at six-foot-five and three hundred and fifty pounds, Ben Stillman was about the biggest man around, with the strength to match his oversized frame. A one-time former heavyweight boxing contender, the fifty-year-old owner of Above the Claw now suffered from chronic back pain and was severely overweight. He also had a reputation for being a cantankerous barroom brawler and an abusive spouse.
Ben remained in his assumed crash position, his noisy exhalations sending malodorous waves of freshly caught lobster washing over Jake. The pungent smell clung to the lawman’s nostrils, its familiar scent unleashing an unexpected wave of queasiness. It brought memories back with it – memories Jake would have loved to forget.
It was Christmas Eve, and he was five years old. His mother was in one of her legendary holiday cooking frenzies. He sat at the kitchen table and watched, mesmerized, while she stirred pots, added seasonings, and taste-tested sauces. She was wearing a brightly colored apron, new shoes, and a new dress. She moved with energy and grace, her smile bright and her figure tight and trim, despite motherhood and having retired from competition years earlier.
Jake gave a small giggle of delight as his mom lowered a wooden spoon to his mouth, allowing him to test one of her homemade creations. He nodded his eager approval, watching her whirling away through the worshipping eyes of an adoring child. To him, his mother’s movements were wondrous to behold, a kind of magic that transformed the mundane into the mystical.
That magic ended with the slamming of a door. His father was home early. His complexion was red and his clothes reeked of booze. He stalked into the kitchen, his nostrils flaring and his expression vicious. Jake’s eyes lowered as he shrank down in his seat. More often than not, his father ignored him; he hoped this would be one of those times.
“What’s that smell?” John
Braddock demanded. His eyes grew irritable as he roamed the kitchen, poking into every nook and cranny like some looter looking for a prize.
“You’re home early, dear,” Jake’s mother said, her forced smile unwavering.
“They cut my hours at the warehouse again, the bastards.”
“Oh. That’s okay, John. We can–”
John stopped in front of the stove. He looked down, then whirled on her. “Don’t try to sidetrack me, woman.” He reached for a furiously steaming pot, his calloused hand closing on the metal lid’s handle. Amanda Braddock was too late to stop him.
John yanked his hand back, cursing furiously. He flipped on the faucet and held his burned fingers under the cold water. He looked around angrily for a potholder, before snatching the pot’s lid off to peek inside.
“Lobster?” he spat incredulously. “My salary just got cut by a third and you buy fucking lobster?”
“Its okay,” Jake’s mom placated. She took an involuntary step back, her smile faltering. “I finally got that endorsement check today, so all our problems are solved.”
John wheeled on her, his fury obvious. “Solved? You mean you solved them for us? Gee, thanks, honey. I guess you forgot who the breadwinner is around here, didn’t you!”
“Wait, John – what are you–”
Jake’s mother cried out in alarm. She sprang back as his father seized the tall lobster pot and toppled it to the floor. The blood-colored crustaceans spilled everywhere, the permanent surprise in their dead bugs’ eyes mirrored by their claws’ open-mouthed gapes. The stove’s smaller pots quickly followed suit. The clanging noises they made as they struck the tiled floor were punctuated by Jake’s cries of fear.
“John, what the hell’s gotten into you?” Amanda said, stepping closer to stop him. “You’re scaring him!”
The backhand came out of nowhere, a powerhouse slap that sent her flying backward. She bounced off the kitchen cabinet and collapsed in a heap, laid out atop a congealed mass of lobsters, mashed potatoes, and string beans.
His eyes tiny globes of terror, Jake hid under the table, cringing in fear. His mother’s sobs echoed in his ears. Above him, his father continued his rampage, ripping open cabinet doors and extracting dinner plates, smashing them one by one against the floor.
“Your nice, fat endorsement check, eh?” he snarled. “Great, you can use it to replace all this crap.” He extended his gorilla arms, clearing the kitchen counters with huge sweeps, sending condiments and silverware violently clattering, merging with the mountainous mess he created. He stood upright and glared hatefully down at his wife. “Now clean this shit up! I want this place looking brand spanking new!”
Jake watched, paralyzed, as his mother dragged herself across shards of broken china. Blood trickled from her mouth, and her dress was heavily stained with sauce and crushed vegetables. His father gloated as he stood over her, reveling in his victory.
Jake slipped unnoticed under the table. Crawling on all fours, he tried to make it out of the kitchen. He got a full ten feet before he was grabbed by the nape and hauled forcefully back.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” his father barked from two inches away.
Jake closed his eyes and whimpered; the smell of cheap beer combined with lobster was making him nauseous. He uttered a yelp of pain as he w as slammed down hard into his chair.
“Now, sit your ass down and don’t move.”
Jake watched in terror as his father stepped over his mother. He reached for the utensil drawer, ripping it open so hard it came off its rollers and dropped to the floor, spilling its contents.
John Braddock poked through the scatterings, settling on a pair of stainless steel tongs. He made a quick grab and stood up. He held one of the lobsters up and shook it, its mashed potato-coated claws waving like the fungus-coated legs of a rotting spider. He headed straight for Jake, thrusting it under his nose and holding it there.
“Here you go, you little bastard,” he said, smiling. “Your mother thinks we can afford to eat like royalty! Well, the only royal you may be is a royal pain in the ass, but at least you’re going to eat like a king!”
“John, no!” Jake’s mom shrieked. She struggled to her feet using the sink for support.
Jake’s heart stopped as his father whirled menacingly on her.
“Stay out of this, woman!” he warned. “You wasted our money on this shit, so your little bastard is gonna eat it!”
Jake gasped as his father shoved the steaming lobster under his nose. His little jaw clamped tightly shut and he shook his head, more from fear than refusal.
His father slammed the lobster down hard on the table, its lifeless black eyes locking onto Jake’s. He uttered a tiny bleat but was too afraid to move.
“I said eat it!” his father roared. “If your mother has her way, we’ll be eating off the floor soon, so you might as well get used to it!”
When Jake failed to comply, John brought his fist down like a hammer, reducing the crustacean’s hard shell to fragments, sending hot lumps of potatoes and lobster juice spraying into his son’s face. Jake flinched and blinked repeatedly, but remained rigidly immobile.
His father leaned down, whispering frighteningly in his ear. “You’ve got three seconds to start eating, or I’m gonna make you! One . . .”
Jake opened his mouth to cry for help. His father stopped at two, seizing him by the back of the head with one big hand and forcing his face onto the crushed lobster.
Jake tried to struggle, but his cries only forced steaming-hot hunks of half-cooked shellfish into his mouth. He felt stabbing pains as his tongue and palate were pierced by sharp pieces of shell. His stomach heaved and his muffled cries were stifled as he vomited. He gazed piteously upward at his mother as she screamed at her husband, pleading with him to release their son. She beat futilely at him, her flailing hands like pigeon’s wings flapping against a stone statue.
Jake closed his eyes and prayed for it to end. The last thing he remembered was the smell and taste of lobster.
“Take it easy,” Jake said, suppressing a shudder as he shook off the haunting stimuli. He stared scornfully down at Ben Stillman, trying to breathe through his mouth. “We’re not in any rush. What can I do for you?”
“Thanks,” Ben said, straightening up and patting his stomach with his ham-sized hands. “Whew! Guess my wife is right. It’s time to stop hitting the buffets and start hitting the gym!”
Jake would have preferred he just stopped hitting his wife.
“Sounds like the woman knows what she’s talking about,” he said.
“Maybe. Anyway, sheriff, I was wondering if you could check my traps later. Two are just plain missing, and the rest, well . . . someone’s been pilfering lobsters out of them. The Infidel is much faster than my old tub.” He pointed a thumb at his bulky lobster boat. “So if there’s any chance of catching the culprits, I figure you’ve got the best shot.”
“You know, Ben, I appreciate you taking the time to run over here, but my dispatcher already told you we were going to investigate your complaint later today.”
“Well yeah, but-”
“We’ll be covering over twenty miles of water up and down the sound, so we’re bound to end up passing your traps during our rounds.” Jake started to turn away as he spoke. “So, if there is someone out there robbing them, I’m sure we–”
“Actually that’s not where I’m having the problem, sheriff,” Ben said. “I have a few traps farther out. And those are the ones I think people keep mucking with because they normally produce big time.”
“Farther out? Just how far out are we talking, Ben?”
“By the Cutlass,” Stillman said. His voice was low and his eyes shifty.
“The Cutlass?” Jake looked back at him as he climbed over the Infidel’s gunnels. “Are you frickin kidding me? Who the hell ever heard of anyone catching lobsters all the way out there? That’s way out of our way, and also out of my jurisdiction.”
&nbs
p; “Yes it is, but–”
“Sorry Ben, but it’s not happening.”
“Oh, c’mon now, sheriff. Okay, it’s true you can’t arrest anyone out there. But, if someone’s looking to obtain a dinner at my expense, and they happen to see your patrol boat out there, I’m sure they’ll take off and think twice about coming back.”
“I told you once already. The answer is no.”
Ben leaned closer to Jake with a conspiratorial expression on his face. “Actually, sheriff, if you can keep a secret, the lobsters off that point are the biggest I’ve ever seen. They average eight pounds, and some weigh over fifteen.” He paused, sizing Jake up. “I’ll tell you what. Now, I don’t want to be misconstrued as someone who’d try to bribe an officer of the law. But, if you should happen to be out there, and manage to check on three or four of those traps for me . . . well, let’s just say I’d be more than happy for you to help yourself to half of what’s in them. Hell, I’ll even throw in a steak dinner.”
Jake turned slowly back around until he was facing the huge fisherman. “Say, how’s your wife, Ben? Everything okay at home? I haven’t seen her in town for a good week or so.”
Ben Stillman looked confused.
Jake leaned forward, resting his thick knuckles on the Infidel’s white gunnels and stared the other man dead in the eye. “Thanks for the offer, Ben. But you’re wasting your time. I don’t care much for lobster. As for you buying me ‘dinner,’ well . . .” He raised himself to his full height and looped his thumb inside his gun belt. “We’ll discuss that another time. Who knows? Maybe one of these days I’ll get a call to come over to your place and we’ll settle up on things then?” Jake folded his arms across his chest and smiled, his expression a predatory baring of teeth.
Ben Stillman turned noticeably pale. He stared at Jake for a long moment. “Uh, sure thing, sheriff,” he said finally. “We’d . . . love to have you.”
“Have a nice day, Ben.” Jake turned his back on the bigger man, leaving him standing there with his mouth hanging open.
KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back. Page 12