by Russ Elliott
“Which one?”
“African Gold or something like that. It’s a new company. I think a china of hers is coming out with his own line of suntan lotions, and the commercial is for his startup campaign. Anyway, so then she starts telling me about how they want to use surfers in it. You know, real surfers really shredding, not just a bunch of doff models lying around the beach.”
Ron laughed. “Real surfers, so why did she ask you?”
Dorian jokingly shoved him with his board. “She said they wanted to use surfers who could pull off some good tricks on the waves in the background; you know . . . really shredding! So she gave me the number of the guy shooting the video, and I gave her mine. Then she asked me if I knew of anyone else. They need two, one guy closer up in the foreground and one riding a wave in the background. After that, she walked with me back to the car, and I showed her one of the shots that Surfer Magazine photographer took of you last month at Jay Bay.”
“Which one?” asked Ron excitedly.
“The one where you were doing that huge aerial.”
“Goooood choice!”
Dorian zipped up the front of his sleeveless wetsuit. “Bro, you owe me for this one.”
“Yeah, yeah. What exactly will we be doing?”
“I think she said she’ll be lying on the beach at the tide line, and I’ll be walking out of the water toward her with my board. And you’ll be ripping a wave in the background, doing an aerial or something really rad.”
They stopped at the shoreline and planted the backs of their boards in the sand. “Yeah, I see why they picked this spot,” said Dorian, looking across the waves in awe.
Keurboom was right out of a surfer’s dream. The sun hung above the horizon while long, white clouds scudded across the sky. Offshore, a stiff southwesterly breeze was feathering the waves into perfect form. Mounds of water as clear as liquid glass rolled into tubes that bound toward the shore.
After a minute of staring into the roaring surf, Ron spoke up. “So how come I’m the one in the background, and you’re the one in the foreground up close with the chick?”
“Hey, you’re the one with the great aerial, and I’m the one with the six-pack,” replied Dorian, bouncing his knuckles off his lean abdomen.
“Yeah, yeah, you and your abs,” Ron said. “If I spent half my life in the gym, I’d have abs like that too.”
Dorian glanced at Ron’s soft stomach. “I doubt it. How long has it been since you’ve even seen a gym, bro?”
“I go by the gym at least four times a week. Have to pass by one on the way to Jay Bay every time I go surf.” He laughed theatrically at his own joke, then returned his attention to the waves. “So, how much are we getting paid for this gig anyway?”
“I think we each get about a hundred fifty rand.”
“Is that a good price for something like this?”
“I don’t know. How much you normally get paid to come out here and surf all day?” replied Dorian.
“Good point. What time are we supposed to hook up?”
Dorian glanced at his dive watch. “I wanted to get here a little early and catch a few waves before they arrived, but we’re about an hour early.” He looked out at the perfectly breaking waves and tossed his gym bag onto the beach. “Bro, check it. That front that came through left a serious groundswell. The surf is jacking up!”
“Think we’ve stared at those waves long enough?”
Dorian smiled. “Looks like we’ll have to start without them, ay!” After fastening their surfboard leashes around their ankles, the duo raced through the shallows and paddled out to deeper water.
~~~
Libby Watson continued to steer the small boat in the direction of the South African coastline. Beside him, John’s hair blew in the wind while his unshaven chin gave a slight bounce off his chest with each passing wave. Despite the noise of the boat’s whining engine, John continued his nap. Beneath his resting feet the little Chihuahua peered out from between the holes of the overturned milk crate.
There was a thumping in the sky. Libby looked up and saw a helicopter approaching from the northwest. The radio crackled and a voice came through, “Do you read? This is Kate Atkins. I’m looking for a John Paxton. Do you have him on board? Over!”
Libby quickly picked up the mike. “Yeah, I got him. Just fished him out of the water a few hours ago. He had a little trouble with his chopper . . . oh yeah, he’s fine. He’s just catching a few winks right now.”
~~~
John awakened to the sound of chopping blades and saw a helicopter hovering above the boat. He was quick to notice the jagged tooth grimace on the craft’s nose. You gotta be kidding me, he thought. They sent a chopper with a huge set of jaws painted on it. He looked over and saw Libby holding out the radio mike. “It’s for you. Some girly named Kate. He winked. “Sounds kinda cute!”
John snatched the mike. “Kate, is that you?” He looked up and saw her waving to him from the pilot’s seat. A familiar voice crackled over the mike. “Sorry to interrupt your nap. But I was wondering if you might need a lift?”
“How did you find me?” asked John as he could now make out Kate’s gorgeous face peering down at him—like an angel from heaven.
“I was making a few calls on the way out. One of the dispatchers at the Cape Town Naval Station remembered your name. He said you called in, something about a marine reptile. Where have you been? Mom and I’ve been calling everywhere looking for you.”
“You’re not gonna believe it!” replied John. He picked up the tooth from the passenger seat and slid it through his belt.
“Okay! I’m dropping the ladder. Come on up!”
Libby held on to the top of his hood while water blew all around the small boat from the descending helicopter. The nylon ladder dropped down to the deck and landed just behind the passenger seat. John grabbed the ladder with one hand. Before climbing up, he looked back at Libby. “Thanks again for all your help. And promise me you’ll keep it docked until we find this thing. The waters won’t be safe for a boat this size while it’s on the loose. Okay?”
Libby gave a slight nod.
“Promise me, Libby,” John demanded. “I’m not leaving until you do.”
Libby threw his hands up. “Yeah, yeah, I promise.” Then he pointed beside the passenger seat. “Ain’t you forgettin’ somethin’? Can’t leave without your monkey, boy!”
The chimp looked up at him adoringly. John reached down and grabbed her, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around his torso. After a few steps up the ladder, he stopped and looked down at Libby. “You can let Snappy out from under the crate now.”
John carefully climbed up the swaying ladder and into the helicopter’s cargo bay with the chimp still clinging tightly to his chest. Kate looked back at John, shaking her head with a grin as she watched the chimp hug him around the neck and nuzzle up to his cheek. “What did you do . . . run off and get married?”
“Here. Take the monkey, will you?”
As he stepped closer, Kate gasped. “Your face . . . all the scratches! Your shirt . . . what happened?”
John smiled sarcastically. “Remind me to thank your mother for the lovely field trip she sent us on!” He looked down through the passenger side window and gave Libby one final wave. While John sat down and buckled in, Kate held on to the chimp’s arm. “So, who’s your new friend here?”
“That’s Crystal—the only thing on the island that didn’t try to kill me.”
“Crystal, huh?” replied Kate. “What do you mean try to kill you? And where’s the other bloke, Brad, the pilot? Is he still on the boat?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t make it,” replied John, feeling his slight sense of joy fade.
“What do you mean, he’s dead? How did it happen? In the crash, when your helicopter came down?”
John reached into his belt and pulled out the enormous tooth. Although he’d gone over the story a hundred times in his mind, he struggled to find a place to start.
~~~
Several minutes passed while Dorian and Ron sat motionless on their boards waiting for the next swell. Ron gazed down into the water. Watching the shimmering image of his left foot, he asked, “Does it ever bother you, surfing off these un-netted beaches?”
Dorian gave a sly grin. “What’s the matter, bro? Worried about the man in the gray suit—the great whites?” Dorian paused and looked out across the water. “Nah. Not really. You know, even when we surf the netted beaches, most of the time we have to paddle out past the nets anyway. Besides, most people would throw a wobbly if they realized the nets aren’t continuous. Sharks can swim over them, under them, and around them.” He laughed. “I’ve even heard that one-third of the sharks caught in the nets are caught on the inside, meaning they were already in there swimming around and got caught on the way out.”
“That’s comforting,” said Ron. “Still, you can’t argue that since they put the nets up, the attacks in those areas dropped off to nearly nothing, while the attacks on the un-netted beaches continued.”
“Yeah, guess you can’t deny that,” agreed Dorian, glancing over his shoulder for the next swell. “Did you ever see Jerry Dunigan’s board? The one he was on when a blue pointer hit him off East London? Gave him quite a skirk. Knocked him off his board and came right at him. Luckily, he was able to put the board between him and the mouth. It took a fourteen-inch bite out of the center of the board. He has it hanging in his living room. You should go check it out some time.”
Ron again looked down at his legs dangling in the dark water. “Do you think we could talk about something else? Like school . . . you’re almost done, huh?”
“Got that right, bro! One more semester at Port Liz, and you’ll be surfing with a marine biologist. So what about you, figure out your major yet?”
Ron sighed and shook his head. “That’s a depressing subject, bro. Tell me more about this chick. Like . . . what’s her name?”
Dorian leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His wet ponytail arced with the wind. “Samantha, she’s awesome, incredibly beautiful, and way cool. She even has an old-school ankle tat like mine, except on the opposite ankle. Even got it at the same place—Zowie’s in Port Liz. That’s gotta be destiny or something.” He pulled his right foot on top of his board, exposing a tribal chain-like tattoo that wrapped around his ankle.
With his hand resting on his ankle, Dorian stared blankly toward the shore, a faraway look in his eyes. “As I was walking her to her car, the sun was starting to go down, so we decided to chill for a while and check out the sunset. Then there was this awesome moment . . . it was like some kind of magical vibe. I’m sitting right beside her in the warm sand, beautiful sunset . . . the wind was blowing her hair lightly around her shoulders. Neither of us had spoken for a couple minutes, then she looked down at our ankles with our matching chain tattoos almost touching and said, ‘Look, it’s almost like we’re chained together.’ I don’t know what it was, but when she said it, or maybe it was the way she said it, I thought my heart was gonna jump out of my chest. Bro, you know, I really think it’s destiny. She really seems to have it for me. We really connected, you know, mentally.”
Ron looked back at an upcoming wave. “Don’t get all worked up. She hasn’t met me yet.” Then he plopped down on his chest and started to paddle. Dorian shook his head and looked back for the next swell.
~~~
Ron dropped down into the face of the wave. He tucked low on his board. Whitewater spewed over his left shoulder as he soared through the circle of churning water. After disappearing for several seconds, completely hidden within the wave, suddenly he burst forward. The tunnel of water collapsed behind him, and he soared high on the wave, gliding across the whitecap with perfect balance. Then, after executing a perfect barrel ride, Ron pumped his fist with a victorious cry and rolled out of the wave.
Not one to be upstaged, Dorian looked back and saw an enormous swell moving up behind him. He quickly layed down and paddled with all his strength, knowing the wave had great potential. “Nice ride, Ron, but check this out!” he muttered.
He paddled faster and then stood up as he dropped in position on the face of the wave. Crouching low, Dorian prepared for the tube ride of his life. His hand brushed against the rumbling wall of water to his left.
He glanced at his left hand and noticed a rough, gray object about the size of his torso gliding just beneath the surface. Sea turtle, he thought, then turned his attention back to the falling whitewater atop the wave. A second glance, and he realized the curious object was matching his pace.
No way that’s a sea turtle, he thought. A sense of unease forced him to look more closely.
Keeping one eye on his wave position, Dorian looked at the coarse, gray object. The pebbled covering then divided, revealing a red, glowing orb. He glanced behind it and saw a wall of gray, tiger-striped skin, rippling behind the wave.
It’s a flippin’ eye!
Horrified, he looked ahead to check his wave position. Then he glanced back, and the mysterious red disk was gone. As the wave began to break, the blond surfer tucked lower on his board, and thought, I knew I should have had breakfast this morning. I’m seeing things.
Whitewater began to soar over his head. He thrust his right hand forward and dropped deeper into the tunnel. His full concentration shifted toward another perfect barrel ride. Fully surrounded by whitewater, Dorian soared through the churning tube, rapidly approaching the circle of daylight at its end.
Then it was gone. What the–?
Without warning, the tunnel of whitewater transformed into a cavern of giant, spiked teeth. Dorian kicked the tail of the board out sideways. Pa–pa–pa–pop–pop! The surfboard popped like the sound of machine-gun fire as it skimmed across pointed white teeth. Dorian fell back, his screams muffled by the terrifying walls of cartilage and flesh and bone. His vision filled with the roof of the upper jaw crashing down. In a final effort to escape the closing jaws, Dorian dove toward the outside light—but it vanished before him.
~~~
Finished paddling back out, Ron turned his board in the direction of the beach while waiting for the next swell. After looking around the surface for Dorian, he thought he must have taken the last wave all the way in. He squinted at the distant beach and spotted Dorian’s yellow gym bag, but there was no trace of his friend.
Moments later, Ron dropped down on his board and started to paddle for the next wave. Dropping in, he thought, Not quite big enough for a good tube ride, but I’ll see what I can make of it! He continued to ride the wave, doing a series of tricks and turns, then glided to the top and kick-turned off the whitecap, sending a circular spray of water over the top of the wave. Hope Dorian saw that one.
He dropped back into the face of the wave and slotted in, crouched low. After regaining his speed, he shot back up to the top and glided his board sideways across the whitewater, then returned to the face of the wave to set up for the next trick. That was pretty sweet, he thought. But let’s see if we can catch some air off this one!
Reaching full speed, he approached the whitecap and soared over the top of the wave. In midair, he twisted his board sideways, preparing to land back onto the wave, when suddenly the water below turned pitch black.
Baffled by the black void beneath him, he didn’t have much time to process exactly what he was looking at . . .
And then the horrific truth revealed itself. An immense creature burst through the surface! The huge, rising mouth opened wider, revealing an enormous black tunnel surrounded by glistening, spiked teeth. A crimson trail flowing from the side of its jaw.
Ron could feel the scrape of his surfboard as he kick-turned off the jagged flesh of the creature’s jaw. The rising mouth lifted Ron higher into the air while his well-honed sense of balance kept him over the board. Completing his turn in midair, Ron miraculously landed back on the face of the wave with the board still under his feet.
With half of its enormous body out of the wa
ter, the thrashing monster crashed down behind Ron––showering him with whitewater. Desperately, Ron tried to turn his board and ride in on the huge wave. But the rear fins had been severed by the creature’s rough skin. He fell into the water in a half-dive and started to bodysurf in a last-ditch effort to get away.
The shoreline approached. His speed increased with the pull of the wave. It’s a strong wave, he thought. It should be enough to bring me all the way in. Then he felt something come up beneath his chest. He knew he was still too far out for it to be sand.
The massive nose lifted higher from the water as the desperate surfer tried to grip the armor-like skin. Blood streamed down his forearms. The monster continued to carry him above, then below the surface, thrashing its head to throw him forward––closer to its mouth. Sensing what the creature was trying to do, Ron tried to maintain his grip and push away from the tip of the nose, but his strength quickly failed. The beast slowed, then dove, and the water lifted Ron from its skin.
Below the waterline, Ron felt himself slipping forward on the massive head. Resurfacing, he found his chest pressed halfway over the creature’s snout––his hands less than two feet away from the teeth of the upper jaw. From point-blank range, he stared into a mouth larger than a garage door. He felt his body slipping. His hands inched toward the long, spiked teeth.
Suddenly, the monster came to a stop; it’s massive bulk crashing into the sand. The momentum tore Ron from the jagged skin, throwing him over the nose, soaring through the air until he landed in the shallow water ten feet in front of the creature’s mouth.
Disoriented, Ron slowly crawled back in the shallows, his hands holding his stinging stomach. He looked up at the massive head. The enormous mouth twisted sideways and slammed shut in the shallows. Water sprayed out between huge, spiked teeth.
Then the giant head rose and rolled back into the waves. A red eye peered up from the sea. Ron crab-walked farther back to the safety of the beach. He glanced across the beach in both directions, expecting to see screaming, pointing onlookers offering confirmation that the horror before him was real. But the beach was empty. Only the sound of thrashing water filled the air. Ron stepped back onto dry sand, his eyes glued to the monstrous sight before him. In disbelief, he continued to watch the enormous beast thrash its way back into deeper water. Ron felt the cuts in his forearms, undeniable proof that this was all too real. He looked down to the stinging in his stomach, unable to discern the pieces of shredded wetsuit from his torn flesh. Still, he trembled with the realization that he shouldn’t really be there, except he was. Still alive. Miraculously still alive, he thought as he watched the tremendous creature head back out to sea.