Sea Creature Read online

  SEA CREATURE

  a novel

  VICTOR METHOS

  Copyright 2011 Victor Methos

  Kindle Edition

  License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Please note that this is a work of fiction and any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  BY VICTOR METHOS

  Novels

  The Extinct

  Savage: A Novel of Africa

  The White Angel Murder

  Sea Creature

  Novellas

  Clone Hunter

  To contact the author, follow his latest adventures, or get tips on starting your own adventures, please visit the author’s blog at http://methosreview.blogspot.com/

  * * *

  1

  The great beast hovered motionless in the blackness of the sea.

  A warm current was passing through and it began twisting slightly with the force, as if it were part of the ocean landscape, a fixture inseparable from the water. Its eight arms were coiled tightly underneath, two long tentacles dangling beneath them. This far below the surface it glowed a faint red; a mechanism to attract prey. It hadn’t eaten for days since it was now too large for any of the local sea-life to provide adequate sustenance. But it was patient. It could wait for weeks without food.

  There was tumult nearby. It could pick up the slightest trace of motion and its boulder-sized eye slowly opened, catching a glimpse of a six foot tuna that swam in a circle around it, investigating the flashing red light. As the tuna passed in front of it, the beast shot out with one of its tentacles, wrapping it around the tuna’s midsection. Each tentacle was armed with hundreds of sucker rings, a serrated tooth-like hook in the center. It was designed to tear into meat and not be removed unless the prey was willing to part with a massive hunk of flesh.

  It easily tore the tuna in half, bringing the meat underneath the arms and to a giant beak that swallowed the pieces whole.

  The tuna only served to peak its hunger and it remained motionless, attempting to pick up the slightest vibrations. Suddenly, far above on the surface, it heard the thrashing of a large animal. It began to rise . . .

  *****

  “Mary Beth!” Lauren yelled.

  It was dusk and the sun had nearly set, the stars beginning to sparkle in the sky, but she could still see Mary Beth paddling farther from shore with Andrew and it made her heart race. Viña del Mar was by far the most luxurious and safest of all summer area resorts in Chile, but the tides were still as strong as anywhere else on the coast.

  Her mother had told her Mary Beth was her responsibility. She was far too impetuous and foolhardy considering her station in life, her mother had always warned her. Lauren was the responsible one, the one her parents always turned to when they needed to find out what mischief the girls were up to.

  The canoe was painted yellow; easy not to lose sight of and the wood was thick, but Lauren was frightened that a strong current could overpower it and send it off farther to sea. And then she would have to explain to her mother how Mary Beth had to be dragged back to shore by their bodyguards. And where were those damn guards now? She had a suspicion Mary Beth had sent them on an errand to be alone with Andrew.

  Mary Beth looked back to shore and waved to her sister. She couldn’t hear what she was yelling but she laughed; no doubt her sister was worried.

  “Should we go back?” Andrew said.

  “She always worries. When we were little girls she was always warning me not to ride my horses or play with boys or go far away from the estate by myself. She reminds me of mother that way.”

  “Your mother,” Andrew said with a shake of his head, “quite the character. Do you know she came to my father’s house, screaming her head off, because she found one of my letters in your room?”

  Mary Beth laughed, leaning back onto the canoe and putting one leg into the water, letting it drag across the surface. Andrew paddled softly and looked at her bare leg. It was smooth and milky white and her feet were perfect. He looked back to shore and wondered if anyone could see.

  “Pull your swimsuit up,” he said, his eyes locking on to hers.

  She smiled and playfully wrapped her fingers around her waist, tugging at her bikini as it rose up, revealing her hips.

  “Higher.”

  She reached underneath and pulled her bikini to the side.

  “Now take it off.”

  Mary Beth leaned her head back, the moon becoming bright in the sky and illuminating her face. She slipped off her bikini. “What do you think?” she whispered.

  There was no reply.

  She looked down and saw that she was alone on the canoe, the paddle lying limp across the seats. The sea was still as glass.

  “Andrew?”

  She looked down over the water. He was a trickster and she could see him getting her excited and then slipping into the ocean, peaking her excitement and only making her want him more.

  “Darling,” she said, sitting up and leaning over the side of the raft, “I have a present for you.”

  There was only the silence of the ocean, not even small waves lapping against the wood of the canoe. It was a silence she hadn’t heard out here before and the hairs on her neck stood up. She looked back to shore; it was far and she couldn’t see if her sister was still there or had gone back to the hotel.

  “Andrew, this isn’t funny. I’m paddling back to shore if you don’t come out right now.”

  There was a scraping noise, something underneath the canoe. It sounded like flesh against wood. He was underneath the boat.

  “I’m leaving now, you can swim back.”

  There was another sound, the surface being broken as something came up. Across from her, on the other side of the canoe, she saw a glowing tentacle reach up and slitter its way over the wooden seats. It was slick and white, turning briefly a blood red before losing its color again. It left a slimy trail along the wood. It began to go to the left and then circled to the right, searching.

  Her heart stopped. She screamed and the tentacle thrust forward around her legs and another came from behind and wrapped itself around her face and throat. She felt lightness as she was lifted in the air and the cool water of the sea against her skin as she was pulled under.

  A moment later, the canoe was dragged underneath the surface, and the ocean went still again . . .

  * * *

  2

  The fist impacted against Patrick Russell’s jaw and sent him flying back into the arms of the crowd.

  Gathered in a circle behind the local Catholic Church, the villagers of San Pablo had come for generations and watched the fights on the twelfth of every month; commemorating the uprising of their ancestors against the early conquistadors nearly five centuries ago.

  It was a rare treat for a foreigner to be allowed to fight, and rarer still for one not to be attacked by the crowd should he start to get the better of his opponent.

  The crowd tossed Patrick back into the circle. His opponent was tall and lean, his fists wrapped in a thin cloth; more to keep his opponent’s blood off his hands than protect him. He came in with a jab and connected with Patrick’s nose. He came in again and again and his nose bled down his lip and onto his shirt. The man was smiling. He turned to the crowd and held up his arms in victory and the crowd cheered. Technically the fight wasn’t over until someone was unconscious or submitted.


  He turned back to Patrick who stood with his hands by his face, his nose bloody and his eye beginning to swell. Patrick lunged at him and swung with a right. The man easily ducked and came up with a hook to the ribs and another hook to the cheek which spun Patrick around and he fell onto his stomach.

  He looked up to Christopher who was taking in the money and setting the odds, wads of cash in his hands and people shouting bets into his ears. Christopher looked at him and mouthed the words, “Not yet.”

  He stood up and turned to the man who was checking his hands to make sure they weren’t damaged. Patrick came at him with a kick to the groin and the man parried it and smashed his fist into Patrick’s face again. He grabbed his collar, not allowing him to fall this time, and sent a knee to his groin, causing him to double over, before sweeping out his legs and throwing him onto his back.

  Patrick stared up at the sky and could taste the blood running down his throat. The man was taking a victory lap into the crowd, showing his total dominance in the circle.

  Patrick looked to Christopher and crawled over to him.

  “How am I doing?” Patrick shouted out of breath.

  “Good as you think.”

  “Odds?”

  “Five to one against you. The knee to your balls sent it over.”

  “Are we done yet?”

  “Little more.”

  The man spun around and stomped on Patrick’s ribs, causing him to pull to his side. Then he delivered a kick that knocked the wind out of him before grabbing him by his hair and pulling him to his feet.

  The man held up one hand, letting the crowd know that he was about to end it with some powerful blow to the groin or throat or chest. Patrick looked to Christopher who nodded.

  The man swung with his fist, aiming for Patrick’s throat. Patrick pushed into the man, causing his arm to wrap around the back of his neck rather than impact his throat.

  Patrick came up with a headbutt into the man’s face before his foot flew up faster than the man could see and bashed into his groin. The man bent over just enough that Patrick wrapped his arm around him in a reverse headlock, and fell back onto the hard ground, the man’s head taking all the impact.

  Patrick spun around on top of the man to finish with blows to the face, but the man’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he was making some sort of sound. Patrick leaned in close: he was snoring.

  Patrick stood up as the crowd went completely silent. Christopher stepped out, stuffing all the cash they had just made in his pockets and down his underwear.

  “Thanks everyone,” Christopher said, “but we gotta be heading back. It was fun. Tell that guy we’re sorry and that the next beer’s on us. Gracias.” He turned to Patrick and whispered, “We need to get outta here before they cut our balls off.”

  The jumped into the jeep and Patrick looked back. The crowd was still in silence, staring down at their champion who was snoring as loudly as a bear. Someone shouted something and they began to yell and sprinted for the jeep.

  “Go! Go!” Christopher yelled.

  Patrick turned the ignition and slammed down the accelerator. The wheels spun in the dirt for a moment before the jeep rocketed forward away from the crowd. One man had caught up and jumped onto the back. Christopher grabbed his Nalgene bottle and bashed it into the man’s nose, causing him to lose his grip and fly off the jeep, tumbling on the ground and cursing.

  Christopher was shouting and stomping his feet in celebration, but Patrick was looking into the rearview mirror at his face.

  “I think I need a doctor.”

  “Here? You’re better off not going. Lemmie see . . . just a black eye, you’ll be fine.”

  He drove another few minutes and then stopped the jeep on the side of the road. “You drive.”

  They began going down the winding dirt road and eventually reached the paved streets near Valparaiso. The day had been hot but as evening feel the temperatures cooled and the wind was blowing through their hair as they made their way into town.

  “What’d ya want to do now?” Christopher asked.

  “I’m going to bed and sleeping until tomorrow. Then we’re going hunting.”

  * * *

  3

  The panther was asleep in the shade when Patrick Russell approached it through the jungle vegetation. He was no more than ten feet away, so close that he could see the old blood stains from this morning’s meal on the panther’s teeth. He looked back to the jeep and saw his assistant, Christopher, reading on his tablet. His legs were crossed and up on the dashboard. He saw him looking and waved. The Chilean jungle was no place for roughing it for him. He insisted on bringing everything of modern convenience. Patrick let him bring his ipad but demanded no cell phones.

  Patrick turned back, his Winchester by his side. The cat looked so peaceful, its tail whipping back and forth every few seconds to get the flies off, paws dug into the earth. A few feet from him was the carcass of a small deer, and next to that two small bouncing cubs. It was a female. The hunting guide behind him whispered in his ear to shoot, but Patrick slowly backed away and they walked back to the jeep.

  “What happened?” Christopher asked.

  “We’re leaving,” Patrick said.

  “Thought you wanted to kill a panther?”

  “Changed my mind.”

  “It was on your bucket-list.”

  “Hemingway was a coward to shoot one of those things. I’m not doing it.”

  The guide placed his rifle in the back of the jeep and climbed into the driver’s seat. He waited for Patrick to climb in before starting the engine and pulling away.

  “It would kill you if it could,” he said.

  “Well, I think that could be said for just about anybody.”

  There was another jeep in the distance, speeding toward them on the dirt road, clouds of red grainy dirt kicked up behind it. They were approaching at a fast pace and the guide pulled to the side of the road. This area had been infested with bandits since they had been pushed farther and farther away from the cities. They would sell things on the side of the road and when tourists stopped they would be robbed. But tourists learned quickly and fewer of them were stopping, so they had taken to causing car accidents and then robbing them.

  The guide took his rifle out of the back, making sure the other jeep could see it. Patrick put his across his lap and glanced back to Christopher who was applying sunblock to his nose and arms.

  The jeep came closer and Patrick said, “It’s James.” He turned to the guide. “It’s my cousin, it’s okay.”

  They pulled up to the side and James had a frantic look on his face. “Pat, we need to get back right now.”

  “Why, what’s going?”

  “It’s Andrew.”

  *****

  Patrick Russell collapsed into a chair at the police station in Viña del Mar. The station was little more than an old house with a handful of officers, but the furniture was exquisite and locally hand crafted, the hardwood floors freshly polished and covered with handmade rugs. There was a large photo on the wall of some political leader and Patrick looked at it a long time as the chief of police tried to get his attention.

  “Mr. Russell? Mr. Russell?”

  “Yes?”

  “I am sorry about your brother but the woman he was with was apparently a very important woman. The American Embassy is very upset. Very upset.”

  “Mary Beth, I know. She’s the daughter of a congressman. We came down here with them.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Vacation . . . my brother was going to ask her to marry him.”

  The officer exhaled loudly, as if annoyed by this little revelation of emotion. “When someone drowns in the ocean there is a burial at the ocean. We put their belongings into a coffin and place them into the water if they are rich. If they are poor, we light candles for them and let them float away.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen the ritual. But it doesn’t make sense that my brother drown. He was a champion
swimmer in college. How could he have drowned in a calm ocean?”

  “Perhaps he was drunk? Many tourists do not realize how dangerous these waters can be and they get drunk and fall off their boats and the currents take them.”

  Patrick stretched his back and stood up. “Do you need anything more from me?”

  “No. If we find his body, I will let you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  He walked out into the hot Chilean sun. This was the most affluent region in the entire nation, the President’s summer villa not six blocks from where he stood, but there were still a few hawkers selling their wares on the side of the roads. They saw him and wanted to approach but they dared not come near the police station for fear of being arrested. Tourists were not to be hassled when they had business to attend to. Too many tourists have an unpleasant experience and the Chilean tourist trade could dry up, the dollars spent farther south or north instead.

  Lauren was sitting on the curb, her face in her hands. Patrick walked to her and sat down on the warm pavement, watching the throngs pass them by. Near them to the right was a cart with a butcher cutting up slabs of meat, his wife cooking lamb and chicken on skewers with roasted vegetables.

  “Are you all right?” he said.

  She burst into tears and dug her head into his shoulder. He turned to her and wrapped his arms around her, leaning his chin against her head.

  “It’s my fault, Patrick. I let her go on the canoe.”

  “No, it’s no one’s fault. Lightening has to strike somewhere.”

  She pulled away and wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t even know what to tell my parents. What am I going to say, Patrick?”