KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back.

by Max Hawthorne

  Amara walked over and nervously accepted the razor-tipped hunk of ivory. Her eyes flew open wide. “You said you . . . pried this out of the damaged vessel’s hull?”

  “That’s right, doc,” he said, feeling sufficiently vindicated. “It was buried in the transom. Or, what was left of it.”

  Amara was either confused or excited. Jake couldn’t decide which. She handled the tooth as if it were made of expensive crystal, turning it repeatedly and examining it from different angles. She held it next to her forearm and then hoisted it for Willie to see. Her first mate’s expression seemed to bolster her bewildered state.

  “So, do we have a whale problem?” Jake interjected.

  “To be honest, I have no idea what this is from, but it’s not from a sperm whale.” Amara blew out her breath and sat down on the Infidel’s rear bench seat. She gestured for Jake to join her.

  “First of all, you can see the tip is much too sharp. The teeth of a large cachalot are fairly blunt.” She ran her thumb down the inside curve of the item. “You see this sharp ridge?”

  Jake nodded.

  “Sperm whales have teeth designed to pierce and impale things, like fish or squid. They swallow their prey whole.” Amara looked up at him. “Whatever lost this piece of tooth was what we call a bolt-shake feeder. Its teeth are designed to bite through the flesh of large prey items. It then uses a powerful headshake motion to rip bite-sized pieces loose so they can be swallowed.”

  She held the tooth up for emphasis as she finished.

  Jake gaped at her. “Whoa, did you say a piece of tooth?”

  “Oh, yes.” Amara pointed at the tooth’s rough-edged cross section. “This broke off far above the gum line. It’s completely solid. There are no root canals visible at all. I’m positive; the whole tooth was definitely larger.”

  “How much larger?”

  Amara held the tooth at arm’s length and closed one eye. “I’d say it measured another six or eight inches.”

  “Jesus.”

  Amara nodded.

  Jake shook his head in frustration. “But you have no idea what kind of creature we’re dealing with? If I’ve got a man-eater on my hands, it would help to know what kind I’m looking for!”

  Willie chimed in unexpectedly. “Probably da same one dat spooked da whales before, mon. I tink a beast wit teeth like dose could scare almost any ting!”

  “What’s he talking about?” Jake stared at Amara.

  The cetaceanist hesitated, shooting Willie an irritated look. “We had a . . . incident earlier. Something frightened one of our resident pods of sperms. Unfortunately, we didn’t get a good look at it. But it was very big and very fast. And yes,” she added as she saw the expression on his face, “it’s possible that the tooth you found came from the same animal.”

  “I see . . .” Jake said. He reached over and took the fragment back. “Thanks for your help, doc. If you find out anything that will help identify this creature, I’d appreciate you letting me know.”

  Amara wore a pouty look. “But Jake, I . . . thought you wanted us to run some tests? If we’re going to find out what animal we’re dealing with, the equipment we have onboard the Harbinger will be our best shot.”

  “I’m sure, doc. But the forensics team that’s documenting the Sayonara is going to look this over first.” Jake hefted the huge fang. “Once they’ve photographed and logged it, I’ll release it to you – temporarily, of course – so you can give it a good once over.”

  “Um, no problem, Jake. In the meantime, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to examine the damage to the boat.”

  “That might be a little difficult,” he announced. “What’s left of it is back at the marina by now. And I doubt very much you want to go bouncing all the way there on your little runabout.”

  “I see.”

  Jake walked back over to the Infidel’s gunnels and offered her his hand. “Sorry, doc.”

  Amara remained where she was. “How about if Willie takes the Sycophant back and I ride with you?”

  Jake admired her tenacity. And despite everything, truth be told, the two of them spending time alone together on his boat wasn’t the absolute worst idea he’d ever heard . . .

  “I don’t know. Seems like an awful lot of trouble.”

  “Not at all,” Amara persisted. “That way, I can not only get a look at what happened to the vessel, I can compare the damage to the tooth you found. Just to make sure they’re definitively linked. Then, after your guys are done doing their thing, you can give me a ride back to the Harbinger on your trusty steed, here.” She smiled and gave the Infidel’s gunnels a fond pat. “And, we can use my equipment to do a more formal analysis.”

  Jake felt himself beginning to cave. He nodded. “I guess that’ll work. I do want a full report on this thing, to find out where it came from. Or rather, what it came from. Then I’ll know how to find it, and how to deal with it.”

  Amara studied his expression. “I’ll certainly do my best, Jake. But, I have to be honest with you. My interest is finding out if we’re dealing with an undiscovered species. I’m not a policeman or some deranged big game hunter.”

  “Point taken, doc,” Jake replied evenly. Knowing the cetaceanist’s philosophy when it came to preserving marine life, he was hardly surprised. Unfortunately, her dedication might get in the way. He leaned toward her, his expression grave. “Now let me be just as honest with you.”

  Amara smiled nervously. “Okay . . .”

  “This ‘previously undiscovered species’ you’re referring to has killed two people, both of whom were friends of mine. That makes it a confirmed danger to the public. Like an enormous, rabid dog. And, you know what happens to them, don’t you?”

  He gave her a meaningful look.

  Amara’s smile disappeared. “I understand, and I’m very sorry for your loss, Jake. Believe me. But let’s see what we’re dealing with before we jump to conclusions. For all we know, some drug dealers may have kidnapped your friends and left the doctored-up tip of an elephant’s tusk behind to throw you off the track.”

  “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

  “Not really. But I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

  “Fine, let’s go then.” He turned to start the Infidel’s outboard. The big Yamaha screeched loudly and failed to turn, requiring six or seven attempts before it shuddered to life amidst a white cloud of burning oil.

  “Um, time for a tune up?” Amara suppressed a giggle.

  “Tell me about it,” Jake grumbled, tossing off the dock lines and grabbing the helm. He spun his steering wheel hard to starboard, maneuvering the center console away from the Sycophant, and then waved to Willie.

  “Willie, I’ll call you when we get to shore. Be careful!” Amara yelled out.

  Her first mate nodded and waved back as they sped off.

  Unknown to the two of them, five miles away and five hundred feet below the surface, a huge form moved steadily through the swirling blackness of the ocean’s depths, scattering the surrounding sea life as it headed in their direction.

  It was gaining on him.

  Brad Harcourt couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His horror-filled eyes glanced down at his speedometer. He blinked and swallowed hard. At fifty miles an hour he was nearing his craft’s maximum speed, yet the beast was catching up to him.

  Chancing a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw it barreling along just beneath the surface, its monstrous presence betrayed by the mountain of seawater it was displacing. It was barely fifty feet behind him and relentlessly closing the distance.

  Brad was frantic. He couldn’t believe anything so big could be so fast. The bizarre chase had worn on for five miles already, with the horrified adolescent weaving back and forth in a dogged effort to discourage his pursuer. He’d hoped to wear it down and exhaust it, yet if anything, it was becoming more determined.

  Turning sharply to port, Brad resumed a westerly course. With only two miles separating him from th
e refuge of the marina, his mind focused on making it to that destination. He glanced down at his gas tank reading to see the needle approaching the red line. Soon, the Kawasaki’s warning light would come on. Once it did, he’d have only a few minutes of fuel before his Jet Ski died.

  He turned his head to the side, hocking out some of the accumulated salt-spray that kept working its way into his surprisingly dry mouth. As he did, he checked his right-side mirror. That momentary glance saved his life.

  The creature reared its enormous head up and out of the water, lunging forward in a ferocious attempt to envelope Brad and his mechanized mount in a single bite. He screamed hysterically and twisted the Jet Ski to starboard. The maneuver nearly caused him to flip over, but it also caused his pursuer’s monstrous jaws to close on nothing but seaweed. Relief swept through him and he tried to cheer, but nothing came out except a squeak. Looking over his shoulder again, he did a double-take.

  It was gone.

  Brad glanced around warily, looking in every direction. The monster was nowhere in sight. He slowed and started to zigzag, in case it was tailing him from beneath the surface. Although he prayed it had given up, he kept watch, expecting at any moment the telltale disturbance that heralded its arrival.

  After five minutes, he felt his breathing gradually return to normal. He blew out the breath he’d been holding and took one final glance back, then reached for the Kawasaki’s autopilot.

  When he looked up, he was about to drive down the creature’s throat.

  Brad’s blood ran cold as he spotted the fang-rimmed opening. The monster had taken advantage of his decreased speed. Calculating his path, it surged ahead of him, waiting just below the surface. At the last moment, it rose up, its streaming jaws spread wide enough to envelope a rhino.

  Shrieking loudly, he threw the Jet Ski into reverse, twenty feet from its beckoning mouth. The creature, bereft of any momentum, was unable to lunge and was forced to close its jaws in frustration. It submerged with a hiss of annoyance and then surged powerfully forward, resuming the chase.

  Hysterical, Brad abandoned his evasive maneuvering. He threw his expensive vehicle into gear, cranked it to full and made a beeline straight for home. He fought to stay in control, gazing repeatedly into his rearview mirrors as he jabbed a series of buttons that activated the Kawasaki’s autopilot. He re-checked his lanyard, then hunched down to decrease air-resistance.

  A moment too late, he saw the piece of wood.

  Bobbing up and down in the water ten feet ahead was a piece of telephone pole, fifteen feet in length. With a cry, he slammed into it. Both rider and mount went flying. The watercraft landed first, careening down hard onto its side and rolling twice before slowly righting itself. Brad flew head over heels thirty feet before crashing headfirst into the water. He broke the surface with a frightened gurgle, spouting seawater and mucus as he looked around wildly. Once again, the creature had vanished.

  Whimpering piteously, the athletic teen swam like a maniac. He reached his watercraft in seconds. Gripping the nearest handhold, he looked around, his heart pounding. It was close by. He knew its habits now, like he knew his father’s. It would never stop.

  He grabbed the cushioned handlebars of his Jet Ski and climbed aboard with a speed and strength born of pure terror. Inserting the safety lanyard’s key and cranking the machine’s engine back to life; he tightened his grip. Suddenly, the water’s natural fluidity grew harsh and violent. The ocean beneath his bucking craft was churning across an area a hundred feet across.

  It was right below him.

  Spouting profanities, Brad gunned the Jet Ski into gear. It shuddered and sprang forward, spitting water in a high arc. A millisecond later, the creature surfaced like a runaway locomotive, just missing him. Its water-streaming body rose fifty feet into the air, its sword-like teeth coming together in a thunderous snap. It hung suspended and Brad gazed up at it with a mixture of fear and fascination. He could see its ruby eyes glaring down at him. Blanching beneath its serpentine gaze, he turned and sped off, increasing his speed to maximum.

  Behind him, he heard a crashing sound as the breaching monster came down like a falling redwood. Its roar of frustration echoed across the water. He glanced back and saw it submerge, preparing to take off after him once more. He checked his GPS. A feeble smile spread across his cracked lips. The marina was less than a mile away, hidden behind the fog. If he could hold out just a few minutes more, he would make it home.

  The shrilling buzzer that signified a near-empty tank was barely audible over the sound of his engine, but the flashing light next to it was unmistakable. Brad felt queasy as he stared at the blinking orb. All of a sudden, the marina was a hundred miles away and he was riding on fumes. His plan of action had been made. The thing was right on his ass and there wasn’t any fuel left for fancy evasive tactics. He had enough gas for a straight-line run – if that. The next few seconds would determine whether he lived or died. He tightened his grip on the skimmer’s handlebars, threw the four-stroke into high gear and locked it down. Setting his autopilot for the main dock, he dropped low and ducked his head. With his watercraft’s impeller screaming like a banshee, he rocketed across the surface of the sound, topping out at nearly sixty miles an hour.

  Too afraid to look into his mirrors, Brad’s fingers fumbled for his cell phone. Ahead of him, he could make out the marina, its forest of docked boats pallid phantoms, peeking through the afternoon mist. It was so close.

  He flipped open his phone with his right hand, held the button to his father’s line and waited. It was a long shot. The phone’s earpiece could hardly compete with the roar of his engine. Still, he had to try. Behind him, the barely-submerged head of the giant carnivore drew steadily closer, its speed a match for the big Jet Ski, even at full throttle.

  The phone started ringing.

  Just then, the monster made its move. Speeding up beneath the surface, it surged forward, its triangular-shaped head bursting through the green and white swells, ten feet to the right. Turning in the direction of the disturbance, Brad heard two distinctive sounds simultaneously. One was the deafening hiss issuing from the creature’s spreading jaws. The other, the familiar sound of his father bellowing.

  “Brad, what have I told you about using this number? This sure as hell better be an emergency!”

  Brad stuttered in fear. “D-dad, it’s . . .”

  An ear-splitting roar drowned out his words as the monstrous reptile snapped in his direction. As the wall of teeth approached, Brad held on for dear life to the handlebar of his Jet Ski. Still grasping his phone, his right arm extended out in an attempt to stave off his pending doom.

  There was no time to scream.

  From behind his private sanctum’s desk, Senator Dean Harcourt stared confusedly at the phone in his hand. His son’s voice had been cut off by a sudden roaring noise, similar to a passing train. Now there was nothing. The politician’s face crinkled up and his expression changed from puzzlement to genuine annoyance. He reached over and stabbed a button on his intercom.

  “Gladys, if my son calls back take a message. I don’t want to be disturbed again until dinner time.”

  “Yes, senator.”

  Leaning back into his padded chair, he unbuttoned his jacket and opened the day’s paper. The cover story was sensationalistic as always – something about a squid attacking some surfers. Humming quietly to himself, he skipped the article and began skimming through the financial sections.

  Eight miles from Harcourt Marina, the Infidel crossed the sound, with Jake manning the helm, and Amara at his side. The lawman remained stoically silent. If it weren’t for him periodically checking the Infidel’s instrument panel or the position of the afternoon sun, he wouldn’t have moved either. Most of his time was spent focused on the seas before them, but every so often his gaze wandered down to his control console’s storage bin, and the mysterious item wrapped in cloth and concealed behind the tinted Plexiglas.

  The tooth continued to call
to him.

  Given his passenger’s overprotective nature when it came to cetaceans, Jake was far from convinced that the oversized hunk of ivory came from something other than a whale. Even so, he resisted the urge to reexamine the razor-tipped fragment or initiate a conversation on the topic. In his mind’s eye he saw Phil Starling’s face, just as he left him that morning by the Sayonara. He cursed himself for not taking his earlier feelings more seriously. He’d sensed that something terrible was going to happen. And, once again, he’d found himself powerless to intervene.

  Amara’s shifting drew Jake’s eye. He glanced over at her and saw her change position once more. He couldn’t see her eyes behind her shades, but from her expression she looked like she was in pain.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

  Amara glanced over at him. “Yes, fine. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem uncomfortable. Forgive me, but do you need to use the head or something?”

  “No, silly, I’m fine.” She shook her head and grinned. “Believe me; I’m not shy about going to the bathroom on boats.”

  Jake nodded, then caught her pressing her hand lightly against her stomach. “Are you sure?”

  Confused, Amara followed his line of sight. “Oh . . . no, I’m fine. I just haven’t eaten all day and my stomach is starting to hurt.”

  “So, why didn’t you say so?”

  “Jake, you’ve been through a lot today. I’m certainly not going to bother you about food at a time like this.”

  “Doc, I appreciate your concern and good manners, but the last thing I need is you getting sick on my account.” Before she could argue the point he added, “Look, I can’t get it while driving, but if you want it, there’s a cooler stashed in the starboard floor compartment. There’s a turkey and Swiss hero in it. It’s not much, but it’s fresh. There’s water, too.”