Haruto remained seated. He pursed his lips as he accepted Iso’s clipboard, thumbing methodically through the compiled papers. “This is . . . unprecedented, commander.”
“Aye, sir. We’ve brought in more fins than any ship in the history of the company, sir. And in half the time.”
“Eleven hundred and four tigers, six hundred and fifty-three makos, and one hundred and seventy-nine great whites? Are these numbers accurate?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“And this last heading, a . . . whale shark? Is this some kind of joke?”
“Um . . . no sir.”
Haruto pegged him with a hard stare. “Whale sharks are plankton feeders. How could we possibly hook one?”
“Well sir, we . . .”
“Out with it, commander.”
Iso’s chin jutted out, his spine straightening like a two-by-four. “Well sir, the spotters noted a very large whale shark swimming past our starboard, less than ten meters from the hull.” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “One of the winch crews–”
“Which winch crew, commander?”
“Um, crew number one, sir.”
“Go on . . .” Haruto drawled.
“Yes, sir.” Iso blinked as droplets of perspiration began to trickle into his eyes. “The crew was about to re-bait when one of them, as a lark of course, flung a bare hook at the fish . . .”
Haruto studied his subordinate. “You mean to tell me he snagged a whale shark with a lobbed hook?”
“Yes, sir. First cast.”
“That’s amazing,” Haruto nodded. “And the hoist was able to handle the fish?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
Haruto’s eyes narrowed. “Did you damage another one of my winches, commander?”
“No, sir! It took a while, because the fish was so huge, but it eventually tired and we brought it alongside. That’s when we realized it was too heavy to bring up . . . so we–”
Haruto could see Iso was beginning to get flustered and raised a calming hand. “Slow down, commander.”
Iso took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. We managed to lock a second winch onto the fish, but even conjoined it still kept slipping. It was just too big.”
“How big?”
“Over fifty feet. I’d say forty tons.”
“So, what did you do?”
Iso swallowed again. “Um . . . two of the men climbed down the cables and cut the shark’s fins off alongside the ship, sir.”
Haruto gave him an appraising look. “I see. How big are the fins?”
“They’re the biggest I’ve ever seen, sir!” Iso’s hands waved wildly. “The pectorals alone are twelve feet long. They each weigh a ton, if not more. It’s a bonanza!”
“Easy, commander,” Haruto said. “That’s very impressive. So, no equipment was damaged?”
“No, sir.”
“And no one was hurt?”
“No, sir.”
“Then, you’ve done a good job.”
Iso smiled and assumed an “at ease” pose. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. When we return to port, I’m going to recommend you for the position of first mate. In the interim, you’re to take over as acting first mate, effective immediately.”
Iso’s eyes popped and he saluted sharply. “Yes, sir! Thank you, captain-san!”
Haruto began to examine the tallies in detail. “That’ll be all.”
“Yes, sir.” Iso’s weight shifted from foot to foot, hesitation plying his face.
Haruto glanced up. “Is there something else?”
Iso’s lower lip disappeared for a moment. “Well, sir . . . some of the men have been talking and . . .”
“And what?”
“Well, sir. We’ve heard the reports about a creature attacking that town off the coast of Florida, and–”
“And?”
“Is it true it’s the same animal that killed Mr. Sagato and damaged our ship?”
Haruto felt his jaw tighten. He nodded slowly. “I believe so.”
Iso measured his words. “Well, sir, the men are saying, since we brought in that whale shark, maybe we could–”
Haruto’s brows strategically fell over his eyes. “That we could what, commander? Try to capture it?”
“Well . . . yes, sir. Its fins would be worth a fortune. We could–”
Haruto sprang to his feet, his eyes brimming with fury. Above his head, the ornate, black lacquered stand that held his family’s ancestral swords formed a menacing halo. “We could what, commander? Have it rip more winches off our decks? Have it tear this ship out from under us and send our entire complement and cargo straight to the bottom? Is that what we could do?”
Iso shrank back fearfully. “N-no, sir! What I meant was–”
Haruto slammed the clipboard down on his desk, his close-cropped hair glinting wildly. “What you meant was you were willing to risk my ship on a fool’s venture? Let me tell you something, commander, whatever that thing is, it’s no cow of a whale shark! You can forget about that promotion. Now get out of my sight and go about your business.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Haruto watched as Iso scurried out of the room, bowing repeatedly before closing the door.
He shook his head irritably and sat back down, his knees cracking painfully. The man’s a complete idiot, he thought. Where’s Sagato when I need him? He picked up the clipboard, glancing at it, then snorted and sent it clattering across his desk. He tapped his laptop’s keyboard, reopening the window containing the Florida attack footage. The scene with the warrior and his woman still remained, their pixels frozen in time.
Haruto gave a cursory glance, his finger lingering over the play button. His eyes widened in disbelief as he studied the woman’s face. He zoomed in on her to be absolutely sure, his sudden inhalation a strangled wheeze.
Jake’s eyes ached as he surveyed the devastation all around him. His shoulders bunched as his hands gripped the Harbinger’s railing. It was an hour since the creature’s last attack. What was once a sprawling maze of boat slips and docked vessels was now a drifting mass of burning debris: a floating graveyard of dead people and broken boats.
Jake exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. The acrid smell of burning diesel, wood, and human flesh continued to travel in with the wind. It was a noxious cornucopia that left the nasal passages singed and aching.
Except for the sounds of scavenging gulls, the ruined harbor was without sound. Besides himself, Amara, and the Harbinger’s skeleton crew, the place was deserted. Surviving state police had cordoned off the area to shield Paradise Cove’s inhabitants from harm, setting up road blocks and establishing a two mile-long perimeter. Jake shook his head. He was all too familiar with rescue efforts that came too late.
He turned outward and recoiled. It was the incoming tide, and with it, rising through a veil of whitish smoke, came sobering reminders of how costly the pliosaur’s second attack had been. Interspersed with or draped over hunks of debris, its victims were returning home. Torn apart like dismembered dolls, their bodies drifted piecemeal. Those that still had faces stared blankly. Most were unrecognizable to those encountering them as they washed ashore, which was just as well.
Jake released a mournful shudder. He latched onto the frame of the ship’s harpoon cannon with one arm, leaning on it to draw strength from the metal. Over the course of the pliosaur’s rampage he’d wished repeatedly that the murderous weapon still functioned. He could’ve ended things then and there.
Something drew his eye downward. Floating face down beneath him was an intact body. Much of the flesh on its back and shoulders was burned away – an agonizing way to die.
Jake’s trained eyes instinctively picked out details. The deceased was a Hispanic male . . . early teens . . . brightly colored trunks. Suddenly a swell flung the bobbing corpse against the Harbinger’s prow with a gong-like thump. Its blackened limbs flopped as it turned right side up.
He spotted its face and gasped.
It was the boy from the beach, the one whose sister he’d saved.
The boy’s remaining eye locked onto his, his lifeless expression grim. Jake released his grip on the harpoon cannon and staggered back, ill-equipped to withstand the child’s accusatory stare. He backed away, retreating along the Harbinger’s railing.
There was a loud, snorting sound, and Jake’s head snapped back on his spine. He couldn’t see it, but the noise was unmistakable. It was close by. His feet started moving and he charged toward the ship’s boarding ramp, nearly running over Amara in the process.
His radio in one hand and pistol in the other, Jake exploded onto the fishing pier. He could hear Amara’s rapid footsteps behind him as he made his way to the edge of the concrete structure. His eyes strove to pierce all the smoke and debris.
“Jake, what are you going to do?” Amara gasped, shifting her weight and rubbing her bad hip as she caught up to him.
“What the hell do you think?” Jake barked, his Beretta pointed at the water’s surface as he prayed for a glimpse of their adversary. “I’m going to get close enough to put a dozen hollow-points into that thing’s head!”
“Jake, that gun of yours isn’t going to do anything. It’d be like throwing your shoes at an elephant.” Amara kept back from the edge of the pier. “We’ve got to come up with a better idea!”
Before he could respond, Jake’s attention was drawn upward. A pair of news helicopters arrived and began to circle the smoldering marina. Filming from a hundred and fifty feet up, the two competing network aircraft gathered footage of the chaos below.
Reluctantly holstering his sidearm, Jake turned his back to the water. He paused as he caught the horrified look on Amara’s face. “What is it?” He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up, and was afraid to turn and see what she was looking at.
“Isn’t that your boat?” Amara asked. She swallowed hard, pointing at a stretch of water a few hundred feet past the docks.
Jake shielded his eyes with one hand and squinted. He cursed. Amara was right. It was the Infidel. Alone on the water, the twenty-three foot center console cruised in wide circles. There were three men aboard. Jake shook his head in disbelief. It was the state troopers from the beach.
“FHP, this is Sheriff Braddock, what the hell are you doing?” he inquired into his radio.
The reply was immediate and indignant. “What do you mean? We’re checking for survivors, just like you asked. Over.”
“Survivors?” Jake echoed. “Have you lost your mind? That was before the marina was destroyed! That thing is still out there! Now turn that boat around and get your asses back here!”
“Omigod, Jake. Look!” Amara stared over his shoulder, her trembling hands covering her mouth.
Jake felt his heart sink into his stomach. The creature had surfaced, less than a hundred feet from the Infidel’s stern.
“Guys, listen very carefully.” The mammoth carnivore began to inch closer. “The creature is right behind you. Spin your wheel hard and gun it for the beach. Just so we’re clear, I’m telling you to ground her. Do you understand me?”
There was a moment of silence. Jake sucked in a deep breath, praying his plan would work. The Infidel’s fiberglass hull would take quite a beating from such a maneuver, but it was the surest way to get the men out of harm’s way. All they had to do was remain calm, follow his lead, and they’d be fine.
Then the shooting started.
The sound of gunfire pounded through Jake’s body. Focusing hard, he could make out two of the uniformed officers positioned by the boat’s stern, weapons drawn and blazing away.
He thundered at them. “What the hell are you guys doing? Put the hammer down and get out of there!”
Fueled by the bullets ricocheting off its hide, the pliosaur attacked. Sweeping forward with surprising speed, it lunged for the Infidel’s transom. The rookie trooper at the helm spotted its approach and gunned his engine, attempting to outdistance it. His shriek of alarm echoed across the water as the creature’s room-sized jaws crashed down on the boat’s stern.
“Jesus Christ!”
Amara covered her face with her hands.
Jake watched in horror as his sturdy patrol boat was shaken like a bath toy in the monster’s clutches. There was a sharp, cracking noise as its hull began to give way. Seconds later, the Infidel was no more, smashed into pieces against the surface of the water.
Caught within the beast’s cavernous jaws as it enveloped the boat’s transom, two of the troopers were instantly crushed to a pulp, along with the center console’s outboard and stern. The rookie driver was thrown high into the air, pin-wheeling as the enraged behemoth flung the Infidel to and fro. He landed hard in the water, the wind knocked out of him. Dazed and struggling to get his bearings, he shook his head and began to dog paddle toward the nearby pier.
From a hundred feet away, Jake could see the cop’s terrified face. The deadly reptile cruised lazily behind him like some impossibly large crocodile. It was forty feet away and closing the distance.
“He’s not going to make it! We have to help him!”
Before Amara’s words registered in Jake’s ears she was already in motion, pushing past him and moving to the pier’s edge with surprising speed. She dug in her heels and screeched to a halt, teetering next to an opening in the pier’s railing. She looked around wildly, her eyes leapfrogging from a woefully inadequate piece of rope to a nearby ladder leading to the debris-strewn water below.
Jake felt a cold spike of fear as he realized she was going to jump. He stifled a curse and made a desperate lunge, grabbing her from behind in a bear hug. He absorbed her forward momentum with a grunt and pulled back hard, hoisting her body off the ground and holding her suspended.
“Jake, what the hell are you doing? Let me go!”
Amara cursed and flailed, struggling frantically to free herself. Suddenly, her kicking and thrashing ceased and her body stiffened. She froze, horrorstricken, as the pliosaur picked up speed. Its flippers flicked hard, propelling it forward. Its monstrous maw yawned wide, revealing deadly rows of flesh-rending fangs. It overtook its slow moving victim with surprising silence, swallowing the screaming rookie whole.
“No!”
With Amara’s cries echoing in his ears, Jake lowered her to the pier’s gritty surface and wrenched his sidearm free in one motion. His teeth clenched, he charged along the pier’s edge in a scarlet haze, firing round after round at the distant monster. His finger burned and he became cognizant of the clicking sound signaling his weapon was empty. He ceased pulling the trigger and sprang for the far end of the dock, closing the distance between the creature and himself while reloading.
Ignoring the hail of bullets that struck its armored skull, the pliosaur emitted a tremendous grunt and submerged.
Jake stood in the shadow of the Harbinger, his smoking Beretta pointed impotently at the open water. Silence settled over the area like a shroud, interrupted only by Amara’s sobs.
He lowered his weapon. His shoulders slumped as his fierce gaze rested on the spot where the young cop had flailed about moments before. He uttered a heavy sigh before he forced himself erect, holstered his sidearm, and walked back to Amara.
“Jake, I could have done something! Why did you stop me?” She grabbed him by his shirt, shaking him. On impulse, he pulled her close, hugging her numbly, his brain somehow still aware of how warm she felt pressed against him.
Amara wrapped her arms around him and held on, her tearstained cheek burrowing into his shoulder. Her anguish gradually faded until she became quiet.
Suddenly, she pulled sharply back from him. “What the hell is wrong with you? I could have saved him. Why did you do that?”
Jake’s face darkened. He stared at the ground and shook his head. “I . . . you’d have died too.”
Amara’s lips parted, but before she could reply, one of the helicopters hovered directly overhead. A look of animalistic fury erupted from Jake’s face. He yanked his rad
io off his belt and mashed the talk button down.
“This is Sheriff Braddock calling news chopper 621. Come in.”
No response.
Jake looked up at the helicopter. The cameraman had recorded the Infidel’s destruction in its entirety. Now he was focusing his lens on Amara, feeding off the attractive scientist’s hysterical state.
“I repeat: this is Sheriff Jake Braddock to news chopper 621, come in!”
Jake changed frequencies and repeated his message.
Bastards.
He shook his head in exasperation, then walked over to Amara and put an arm around her quivering shoulders. A sudden roaring noise caused him to look up. His fury was rekindled. The second chopper had rejoined the first and was now hovering over them. A minute later, the two birds moved off, heading out over the water. They stopped a few hundred yards out, hovering low, their noisy rotors whipping the seas below into a frothy white maelstrom.
“Now, what are those assholes doing?” Jake remarked. He drew away from Amara and stalked to the edge of the pier. He reached for his radio once more. “Molly, this is Jake. Come in.”
“Oh, Jake, thank God you called! I saw some of the footage on the TV. I was worried sick! Are you guys okay?”
“No, Molly, we’re definitely not okay,” Jake said. “The marina’s destroyed, dozens killed, and Chris is in the hospital.”
“Oh my God!” Molly was crying.
Jake took his hand off the talk button, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath. “Listen, I need your help getting this situation under control. I need you to put in a call to the governor’s office right away.”
“Um . . . sure, Jake,” she stifled a sob. “What do you . . . want me to tell them?”
“Tell them the situation here is beyond our control. I need the National Guard, and an official announcement that boating traffic is prohibited from Paradise Cove to the twelve mile limit.” His eyes slits, he gazed up at the distant helicopters. “Then contact the local news networks and get me in touch with the choppers they’ve got circling around out here. I want those vultures off our backs.”
“I’ll do my best, Jake,” Molly said shakily.
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