by Russ Elliott
The bundle drew closer.
Thud!
The net rose before their eyes, piling up against the starboard rail. They ran to the opposite side of the ship and looked over the port rail. Their eyes grew wide. Freed from its netted veil, a mass of gray, zebra-striped flesh emerged from beneath the boat, the jagged tips of the frill just breaking the water. The stunned couple backed away as the sea creature slowly faded into the depths, leaving a bloody haze that pointed north, toward the African coast.
Chapter 13
THE SIX O’CLOCK NEWS
Lieutenant Vic Greeman unbuttoned the shirt of his Navy uniform while he walked along the hallway of his East London beachfront home. After a full day’s work, the lush carpet felt soothing beneath his bare feet. He entered the family room to a familiar sight. His eight-year-old son Timmy sat in the center of the couch watching TV. The child didn’t acknowledge his presence. He just stared at the screen, the shield to his familiar space helmet flipped up. A plastic ray gun was by his side.
This isn’t getting any better. Unbuttoning his cuff, he glanced at the program that had Timmy on the edge of his seat. He saw an immense, netted creature burst from the sea while scattered fishermen clung to the hulls of their overturned boats. Then the screen turned blue, showing the sky, while a woman screamed in the background. He looked at the back of the eight-year-old’s space helmet.
“That’s it! I’ve had it! All you do is sit around here all day long watching that science fiction channel!”
“But Dad!” Timmy protested.
“No, it’s not healthy. You should be out playing ball with your friends. That is if you still have any since all you do is watch this rubbish all day!”
“But Dad!”
“When I was your age, I was always out playing ball, climbing trees, or riding my bike.”
A female voice yelled out from the kitchen, “I don’t want him climbing any trees.”
Vic glanced toward the kitchen and continued, “Too much of that science fiction stuff will warp your mind. I want you to turn that TV off right now. Go get your soccer ball and go outside and practice kicking goals like you used to!”
“But Dad!” pleaded Timmy.
“No! I’ll hear no more of it!”
“But Dad . . . it’s not the Sci Fi Channel. It’s the six o’clock news!”
Vic looked back at the TV. The footage stopped and an anchorwoman appeared on screen. “And that was the scene earlier today just off the coast of Mazeppa Bay, South Africa, where apparently a whale attacked the net during the Mazeppa Motanza, a traditional fishing festival. As of now, there are no known fatalities. But the thrashing whale was responsible for dozens of injuries, some of which were quite serious.”
She glanced down at a paper on her desk and continued. “Seventeen fishermen had injuries ranging from dislocated shoulders to missing fingers and hands from the tremendous pull of the net. Several other men nearly drowned after they became entangled in the net and were pulled beneath the surface. An unsuspecting bystander suffered a broken leg and a dislocated hip when a tuna in excess of two hundred pounds landed on her after being thrown from the net.
“Also damaged were eleven fishing boats and one pleasure boat which sank after being capsized from what marine biologists are calling an extremely aggressive humpback whale. They claim that the creature must have been attracted to the net by the thrashing tuna, then became disoriented when the net tangled around its head.
“On a final note, our own Mike Boland who covered the event claimed that the creature he saw had a strange paddle-like fin unlike any found on a whale. Amid all the confusion, one thing’s for certain; this year’s festival truly lived up to its name. We’ll have more on this bizarre incident tonight at eleven.”
Vic finished unbuttoning his shirt and walked back to his bedroom, sensing that tomorrow was going to be more than just another day at the office.
~~~
“No! I’m sorry, Mr. Patterson, but moving your flight back two hours won’t help. I’m afraid I have to cancel,” said Kate into the speakerphone in her Cape St. Francis office. She raised her voice while another plane taxied to the runway. “I know you have been a client for years, but I must cancel all of my flights for tomorrow. I’m afraid there’s been an emergency. I have to leave first thing in the morning.
“Okay, thanks for understanding . . . and if the photo shoot can wait a few days, I’ll be glad to take you when I get back. Thanks again. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Kate clicked off the speakerphone. “Well, that was the last of the cancellations, at least for tomorrow.” She reached back across her desk and pressed the button to play the messages on her answering machine. The tape revealed nothing new. Mom still hasn’t heard from them. Come on, John. Where are you? She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Quarter after seven,” she muttered. “Nearly two days late, now it’s official. Something’s definitely wrong!”
~~~
Like an entity with a mind of its own, the enormous storm cloud seemed to sense John’s every move. No matter how far he altered his course, the darkness lingered above. The wind whipping through the cockpit grew moist.
He looked at his fuel gauge. I just don’t have enough fuel to keep trying to fly around this thing. I’ve got to get back on course, or I’m not going to make it. That’s it! If it won’t let me fly around it, I’ll fly through it. Adjusting his course, he noticed the pressure on his bladder, a constant reminder that he hadn’t had time to relieve himself before leaving the island. He looked around the cockpit wondering how to alleviate the situation. Then a glance back up at the sky made him change his priorities. I’ll worry about that after I reach the other side of the cloud.
Flying below the swelling cloud, a few raindrops began hitting the windshield. A chill shot up John’s spine, but the hint of clear sky on the other side of the cloud calmed his nerves. The scattered drops of rain transformed into a steady drizzle. John held his breath, listening to the engine. The engine sounded okay. He watched the clear sky inch its way closer. He glanced down at the fuel gauge. That should be enough. I knew I could make it––I can’t believe I wasted all of that fuel trying to fly around this thing. Still, he wondered how the sticker on the crowning was holding out. He knew it was on there pretty good, but just the same, he felt behind his seat to make sure the bundled life raft was well within reach.
“Lighten up,” he whispered, staring into the dark cloud, “you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.” He let out a slow breath and tried to relax. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment to relieve the tension.
The engine sputtered.
It sputtered again.
John’s eyes flew open and he saw the blue waters racing up to meet the windshield. He pulled back on the stick shouting, “I knew it––how could I’ve been so stupid? I can’t believe I tried to fly through this thing!”
The engine stopped sputtering, giving the helicopter a sudden burst of power. John pulled back on the stick, raising the nose as the landing gear scraped across the white caps. The engine ran smoothly for a few seconds allowing the helicopter to regain proper altitude. John squinted, trying to see if there was any trace of the South African coastline through the drizzling rain. He had to be close.
Again the engine sputtered and then completely shut off. As the helicopter dropped, he fought to keep it steady, trying to let the spinning main rotor act as a wing to slow his descent. It didn’t work—the helicopter dropped faster than expected.
John braced for impact.
Suddenly, the engine fired once and started. John pulled back on the stick. The engine whined, trying to turn the rotor fast enough to slow the rapid descent. He twisted the throttle to full power, but the landing gear was already touching the waves.
John struggled to keep the main rotor flat, hoping to lift the helicopter straight up from the water. Then the loss of control of the foot pedals told him it was too late. The tail rotor was slappi
ng the sea. In a last-ditch effort to lift the tail rotor from the water, he pushed the stick forward, allowing the main rotor to dip forward. He overcorrected. Through the windshield, he saw the blades of the main rotor scraping the surface. He pulled back, trying to level it off. The blades only slapped louder. Whitewater flew into the windshield as the stick jerked violently from his hands.
When the water level reached the cockpit, John realized he had no chance. Instinctively, he grabbed the tooth and slid it behind his belt. There was a screech of metal as the blades snapped. The cockpit dipped violently. He reached behind his seat and grabbed a life vest and an orange plastic bag.
The rolling cockpit flooded with cool ocean water, quickly reaching John’s throat. He took a deep breath just before it shot above his head. Shoving the plastic bag through the door, John pushed off from the seat with his feet. He glided away from the sinking craft, his arms wrapped around the lifejacket until its buoyancy pulled him toward the surface.
His face burst above the waves and was met by sprinkling rain. He looked across the water. The plastic bag popped up about fifteen feet away. A head broke the surface, just in front of the bag.
“Crystal! I thought you skipped out on me back at the island!” John laughed and swam toward the chimp. He slipped on the lifejacket then reached over and yanked the cord on the thick plastic bag. Crystal screamed when an orange raft suddenly inflated beside her.
John tossed the chimp in first then rolled in behind her, careful not to let the tip of the pliosaur tooth touch the fabric. Pulling his boots into the raft, he noticed the pressure in his bladder was gone. Apparently, the problem of relieving himself took care of itself upon impact. He looked across the choppy waters through the drizzling rain, searching for the slightest hint of coastline. In every direction, the view was the same. Water.
He lay back in total exhaustion and felt the raft following the contours of the waves. Cool rain sprinkled lightly onto his face. He looked over at the shivering chimp. “Pretty rough flight, huh?” The chimp nodded her head up and down, making John laugh out loud for the first time in two days.
As he lay gazing into the dark clouds, he couldn’t help but think of the obvious. He tried to convince himself that the pliosaur should be at least a hundred miles away. But how could he be sure? He took the tooth from his waistband and slid it a couple feet away, suddenly finding it unsettling to have the giant fang touching his skin.
Chapter 14
DEADLY DISCOVERY
Sandy Winston jumped the wake of the silver speedboat and glided through another turn, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her lime-green ski vest and swimsuit glowed against her tan skin as she skimmed across the water at top speed. A glance over the teen’s shoulder showed the Mazeppa Bay coastline flashing by.
Sandy eased up on the handle, setting up for the next turn. She leaned sharp. The surface glided below her left elbow as a twenty-foot wall of whitewater sprayed up from the edges of her skis. Her ponytail then shot straight back as she pulled from the turn with a burst of speed. The momentum brought her even with the side of the boat. She glanced over to wink at her father, but he was taking a sip from his water bottle and didn’t see her.
At that moment, her left ski stopped dead in the water. Sandy flew forward, skimming and rolling across the surface in a lime-green flash. She finally bounced to a stop and pulled her head above the waves. Slowly regaining her senses, she watched the abandoned ski handle skim across the surface as the boat pulled farther away.
Her left ankle began to throb. She reached down to the pain. “At least my foot’s still there,” she muttered. She reached for her heel but couldn’t feel the touch through the throbbing numbness. Slightly disoriented, she looked around for her skis. She swam back until she found her right ski, then spotted the second one about ten yards behind it.
With each slow kick, Sandy gave a whimper from the pain in her ankle. She reached her left ski and picked it up. The front of the ski was completely missing from about six inches in front of the boot. She stared at the splintered edge. “Oh no!” she screamed. “There’s something down there!”
She dropped the ski and slowly swam backward, away from it. Every shark attack movie she’d ever seen rushed through her mind. Something rammed her in the back, and her blood-curdling scream echoed across the water. She lunged forward, slapping at the surface.
~~~
Eventually, Val looked back to check on his daughter and found the empty handle bouncing in his wake. He cut the throttle and circled back around. That was when he heard the screams above the boat’s idling engine. Fifty yards in the distance, he saw the horrible splashing. “God no, not that!” He slammed the throttle wide open and raced toward the whitewater, already blaming himself for what he knew he’d find.
~~~
Sandy twisted on the surface. Her eyes squeezed shut as she pulled her legs up, waiting in horror for the next hit. But it didn’t come. She slowly opened her eyes. Turning around, she saw a round, white object protruding six inches above the surface. Waving just below the water was something white, like a parachute. She put her hand on top of the pole-like object and dipped her head below the clear water. Her eyes followed the long mast all the way down to where its splintered end met the seafloor. It was being held up by air trapped in the tangled sail. Not far from the mast was a sunken yacht. Beside the yacht, she noticed another large shape. It looked like some kind of whale lying on its side a few yards from the yacht’s hull.
Sandy pulled her face from the water when she heard the boat’s engine. She turned as the wake from the ski boat rolled over her vest. “It’s a ship! There’s a ship down here and a dead whale! Get your mask, you gotta see this!”
Val frantically reached down from the side of the boat, “Sandy, are you all right? That scream . . . I thought you were—”
Sandy waved. “I’m okay. It was the mast from the ship!” She pointed to the white object protruding from the surface. “I must have hit it. You should see my left ski, it’s totally trashed!” She again felt the pulsating pain in her ankle. “I think my left ankle is broken or at least sprained.”
Val pulled his fourteen-year-old from the water and lifted her over the gunwale. Sandy released a moan when her left foot touched the deck. Her father quickly scooped his arm under her legs and carried her to a long seat at the stern where he carefully set her down. “That doesn’t look so good. It’s already starting to swell. Can you move your toes?”
Sandy bit down on her lip, straining, but her toes barely wiggled, “Yeah, but I can’t feel ’em!”
“Sit tight. I’ll go get some ice from the chest. I don’t think it’s all melted yet.”
“No! First drop the anchor,” Sandy pleaded. “We don’t want to lose the spot, and it’ll be dark soon!”
“Okay, but don’t you stand up.”
“You should see it . . . it’s really spooky! The ship is down there at the bottom, and the whale is right beside it with its belly almost touching the bottom of the ship. It’s a huge whale, at least as big as the ship. Maybe bigger!”
“Well, right now I’m more worried about that ankle,” replied Val, banging the bag against the deck to break the ice into more manageable pieces.
“But Dad, we’ve got the diving gear on board, and we just had the tanks filled yesterday! Come on. Don’t be a moffie!”
Val looked up from the ice bag. “What’s a moffie?”
“It’s South African surf slang. It means like a pansy or a wimp. But I’m just kidding, Dad. I know you’re not a moffie. But you gotta take a look!”
“Surf slang, huh? Does your mother know you’ve been hanging around with surfers?”
“Yeah. They’re always around us. They always try to leave their towels near our chairs. Yesterday, one of them called Mom a bokkie.”
“Bokkie.”
“Yeah, it means young pretty lady.”
Val’s eyebrows arched. “Well, we’ll see if you two go to the beach alone
anymore.”
He stood back up and glanced at the water. “I guess I better take a look.”
“All right!” Sandy shouted victoriously.
Val slid the ice chest to the stern and carefully placed his daughter’s foot on top of it. “What are you so excited about? You’re not going anywhere!”
“Come on, Dad, I’ll never get another chance to make a dive like this! Look, I can move my toes. It’s not broken; it’s not that bad!”
Val walked starboard and strapped on his tank. “No, just hold that ice right where it is, and don’t take your foot off the chest. The Durban slalom finals are just a month away. We want you healthy for that, don’t we? I’ll take a quick look, and then we’re going to get you back and have someone take a look at that ankle.”
Sandy continued to plead. “Come on, Dad, my ankle will be okay. Besides, you know it’s dangerous to dive alone.”
“Good point, it could be dangerous—that’s why you’re staying on the boat!” Val placed the regulator in his mouth and dropped backward from starboard.
The passing minutes seemed more like hours as Sandy sat with the ice bag balanced on her left foot. Her gaze drifted toward starboard deck, where she saw the sun twinkling on her dive mask. The pull of her curiosity was too strong. “Okay, time for a break!”
After hopping on her right foot, she picked up her mask and snorkel. She leaned over the side of the boat as far as possible, straining to reach the surface with her mask. The throbbing pain in her ankle intensified. Still, she had to see what was going on. The moment her dive mask touched the water, her father broke the surface and shot up the ladder in a single motion.
He ripped off his mask and gasped. “It looks like Sea World’s Shark Encounter down there. There are sharks everywhere! The whale carcass must have attracted every bull shark for miles!” Sandy’s eyes widened beneath her mask, and she quickly leaned over the gunwale to take another look.