Sea Creature Read online

  Patrick would look into the water and then away almost every minute. Jane noticed and asked him about it.

  “It’s nothing.”

  When they finished they rode around, going up the coastline. The beaches varied from white sand to black rock to cliffs and they would stop and Jane would snap photos. They saw a colony of seals on some rocks and they rode closely by, listening to the barking and watching the little ones swim up and sniff the boat.

  “Let’s stop here,” she said as they passed near a secluded beach.

  They stopped and anchored close to shore. They laid out towels and took in the sun, Patrick rubbing suntan lotion on her back.

  “How come you’re scared of the ocean?”

  “I wouldn’t be on it if I was.”

  “You’re tough so you overcome it, but I can tell you’re scared of it.”

  Patrick was quiet but she didn’t change the subject. She just waited patiently until he was ready.

  “My brother was killed last week out here.”

  “Oh no, oh Patrick I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “They told me he drowned, but then I heard that it was something else.”

  “What?”

  “An animal attack.”

  “Like a shark?”

  “We don’t know for sure. There’s just gossip right now.”

  “What was your brother like?”

  He began to speak and found he couldn’t stop. He talked of their childhood, of his father, of his mother’s death, and why he joined the military. He spoke of his father’s business and how he had recently been cut off.

  “You don’t have any money?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get a job maybe, or live on the beach. It doesn’t really matter.”

  “But it does matter. You can’t stay in this town if you don’t have money. They hate foreigners coming to live here. They’ll run you out eventually.”

  “Then I’ll go to another town.”

  “And do what? I’ve spent a lot of time here, Patrick. I was in the Peace Corps here. They only want Americans visiting, not living here. You won’t find any work. You’ll have to live off of charity like a homeless person because that’s what you’ll be.”

  Patrick stared off in the distance in silence. The word “homeless” had struck a nerve. He had seen so many at the VA. So many soldiers who looked fine on the outside but had been torn apart on the inside. They would live on the streets because they couldn’t deal with wives and children and parents and bosses anymore. They let their hair grow, their guts grow, and they would eventually be found in alleys and underpasses, drunk or nodding off from drugs. It was a nightmare that kept him up at night.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said, “I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

  “No, not all. I was just thinking.”

  They climbed back into the boat after another half hour of tanning and after returning the rental Patrick took her back to her bed and breakfast. They agreed to meet for dinner tonight and go to the casino afterward. As she was saying goodbye, she leaned in and gave him a long kiss. He couldn’t help but smile all the way back to the hotel.

  * * *

  13

  Christopher sat at the beach, working on his ipad under a pink umbrella. He needed to plan his next move. Randomness and being caught off guard was not something he would allow to happen. He needed to be one step ahead of everyone else, needed to see the turns that were coming up.

  The fact was, Patrick was probably never going to join him so the question he was asking himself was whether he should join up with Hamilton on his own or stick with Patrick.

  “Hey,” Patrick said walking up from behind him.

  “Hey. What’re you doing here? I thought you were out on a date.”

  “I was. We’re meeting up for dinner tonight.” He sat down in the sand, watching a yacht drift by with several women in bikinis waving hello. “Call your guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “The oil billionaire.”

  “Seriously?” Christopher said, sitting up. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, call him. But we need a contract in place saying he’s funding everything and all of that. I also want some money up front.”

  “How much?”

  “I don’t know, enough for us to live on for a while I guess.”

  “I’ll work out the details, don’t worry about it.”

  “I think you might be getting your hopes up for nothing. For all we know there’s not anything out there.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so. I heard about another attack from some of the fishermen. This one was pretty bad; blood and body parts all over the place. Happened on a yacht not too far from here.”

  Patrick rose, wiping sand off of himself. “Just make sure we get some money upfront. Tell him we know all the local people and we’ll arrange the deckhands and fisherman that we need but he’s got to lease a big boat and all the equipment.”

  “I think that’s plan. He sounded really excited on the phone when I was telling him. But, I gotta warn ya, he sounded a little weird.”

  “Weird like ‘I’m an eccentric billionaire’ or weird like ‘I’m gonna rape you while you’re sleeping’ weird?”

  “More eccentric billionaire. Don’t think he could rape us, he’s in a wheelchair.”

  “Well, just make sure—”

  “We get some money up front, got it.”

  * * *

  14

  Taylor Hamilton sat in his estate’s gardens and painted the sunrise. His wheelchair was chrome with black padding on the seat and arm rests. It responded to voice commands and he asked it to back away a little, judging his work.

  He glanced quickly at the monitor that had been set up next to the easel. It was linked to his home daycare. The daycare was run by state licensed employees and, truth be told, was probably the finest daycare in the state. But that was not why he had set it up. He liked to watch the children. Boys, girls, teens . . . he enjoyed watching them as they played or ate or slept.

  When he was a young man and not bound to this machine, he remembered there was no child he couldn’t have. Now, he had to watch.

  His assistant, Stewart, walked up from behind and waited patiently until he was done with his painting. He had just finished a workout in the gym and his six foot four frame was red and sweating, his muscles engorged with blood, veins popping out through his tanned skin.

  “What do you think?” Hamilton asked.

  “Exquisite, sir.”

  “Quit kissing my ass and tell me what you think.”

  “It’s shit.”

  “It is shit, isn’t it?” He threw the rest of his paint over the canvas and sighed. “Get me some ether and a glass of absinthe.”

  “Yes, sir. I did want to talk to you about something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The gentleman called again . . . about the cure.”

  “And?”

  “They would like a contract specifying that you will be funding the entire expedition and that they are guaranteed half of all book and movie deals.”

  “Fine. Have the lawyers draw it up.”

  “They would also like an advance of twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Wire them the funds to whatever bank account they want.”

  Stewart stood quietly.

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  “Sir, not to question your decisions, but we have traced their call to Viña del Mar. We can hire the best fishermen and experts in the world. We don’t require them. And promising them half? If this cure is found it could be worth millions.”

  “Billions, Stewart. If we find what I think we’re going to find, it will be worth billions.”

  “Then I don’t see how we need or want them.”

  “We don’t. But I will have them nonetheless. Are you familiar with Chileans?”

  “No, sir.”

  “They are a lazy peop
le. They will work for us because we pay them but they will not work when we are not watching. We need local help in the recruitment and supervision of these men. It doesn’t matter anyhow; I have no intention of giving them anything. Their contracts are meaningless. They were smart to ask for money up front however, but it’s worth a twenty thousand dollar loss.”

  “As you say, sir. I will begin recruitment of a captain and vessel.”

  “No need, I’m going down myself.”

  “Sir, in your condition—”

  “My condition is no worse than it was last year or will be next year. I want to be part of this myself. You find us a large, powerful vessel. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “As you wish.”

  Hamilton ordered his wheelchair around and took the cobblestone path through his gardens and around the mansion. There was a separate home in back, white exterior with dark brown shingles and a cross hanging over the door. He said a prayer before entering and then rolled in.

  The entire first floor was made up of shelves and on each shelf was a specimen of squid in formaldehyde. He was no biologist and didn’t know the squid’s anatomy or physiology, but had set up this home nonetheless. He enjoyed coming through here and looking at the dead specimens, but the true treat was near the back of the home: a large fish tank taking up an entire wall. Inside, a three foot Humboldt squid. It was fed well and had some space to exercise, but Hamilton had noticed it growing weaker by the day. They needed their freedom and withered away without it.

  He rolled to it and stared into its large eye. He had no doubt; because of them, he would walk again.

  * * *

  15

  The great white shark tilted its pectoral fin downward to the east and slowly glided in a large arch around toward the beach. It had picked up vibrations in the water through its lateral line—small jelly-filled sacks along its outer skin—that could detect the electrical currents of live prey. It was an adaptation bred through 400 million years of evolution and one that made eyesight and hearing irrelevant. The lateral line combined with the ampullae of Lorenzini in the shark’s snout enabled it to hear the beating of a living organism’s heart and, some said, gave it a sixth sense.

  The shark dipped lower in the warm water as the vibrations continued. The size of a semi-truck, its half-moon tail gently swayed from side-to-side, propelling its twenty-two feet and forty-five hundred pounds through the water like an arrow.

  It came underneath the prey and detected the beating of several hearts and the faint trace of urine. This prey had limbs and the shark could intuitively tell from its shape that it carried little fat. It did not identify it as a seal but was curious and swam around the prey slowly, listening to the vibrations and attempting to trace the scent of urine. It approached one of them from underneath and gently rubbed against it. Its outer skin contained denticles; sharp backward facing bits of calcium that were the same shape and material as its teeth. The prey bled and attempted to flee back to shore.

  The shark, aroused by the blood, began to follow.

  The prey was slow and the shark dived as far down as it could go, preparing to thrust upward into the prey at the midsection and take a large chunk of flesh out of it. It would then swim around nearby and wait for the prey to bleed to death before coming in to feed.

  But the shark picked up something else as it dove into the depths. It was something with a massive heartbeat. It moved and it seemed to move in every direction at once and the shark’s senses felt overwhelmed. The thing was far too large to be trifled with.

  The shark shot to the surface as quickly as it could and felt the mass behind it follow. The shark tilted to the right and then the left, its tail pumping back and forth so quickly it created a small current from its mass jetting through the water. But the thing was too large and too fast to be outrun. The shark felt it behind it, heard its heart. Its lateral line picked up movement in all directions and couldn’t tell which way the thing was coming.

  It made one last attempt to lose the creature by shooting to the surface like a rocket. The mass of gray and white broke the surface and its tail propelled it ten feet into the air.

  As the shark was rising, a tentacle wrapped around its tail and slammed it back into the water. The shark struggled and snapped its teeth wildly as it was pulled underwater backward. It caught a portion of flesh and tore it away, only the pain making it realize it was its own tail and that it had been folded in half. It heard nothing as it was pulled apart at the midsection as easily as seaweed. Its head, still receiving signals through its central nervous system, saw the black opening and heard the crunch as the creature chewed once, and swallowed.

  * * *

  16

  Patrick stood at the pier, staring at the massive ship. It was black with gold trim and the upper third was white. It was named Challenger I and it made him think of the shuttle that had malfunctioned and exploded.

  He scratched at his chest; Christopher had made him buy a wool suit from a local thrift store and he wore it with loafers and a nice imitation Rolex watch.

  “I hate this,” he said.

  “You gotta look nice for this guy.”

  There were a handful of men that stepped off the ship. One, a large muscular man covered with tattoos, was pushing Taylor Hamilton in a wheelchair. The wheelchair was brought over and Christopher thrust out his hand.

  “Mr. Hamilton, it’s an honor.”

  “Nice suit,” he said, turning to Patrick without shaking hands. “Was it hard to get it out of your grandfather’s grave?” Hamilton laughed and Patrick could see several black, rotting teeth in his mouth. “I’m just kidding.” He stuck out his hand and Patrick shook. “Taylor Hamilton.”

  “Patrick Russell.”

  “You made the right choice in not going this alone boys. If this is what I think it is, there’s money in it for both of us. Walk with me,” he said with a sardonic grin. The muscular man began to push Hamilton down the pier toward shore and the men followed. “I’ve been reading some reports about the attacks that took place here. Interesting events.”

  “Have you ever seen a giant squid?” Christopher asked.

  “No, nobody has. But I was close once, in the Bahamas. Something was attacking fishermen there. But by the time I got there the rainy season had started and whatever it was had moved on.”

  “You won’t have that problem here,” Christopher said, “it’s always warm here. Even in the winters.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  They reached the shore and Hamilton turned around to face them. “We’ve got everything covered boys. Do you see that man there,” he said, pointing to a man on the deck of the ship dressed in a red wetsuit, “that’s Mitch . . . well, Mitch something or other. One of the top experts on cephalopods in the world. Damn Australian though, so watch your wallets and your women,” he said, laughing again. “You will supervise all the Chilean deckhands and Mitch will be your supervisor.” He began turning his wheelchair around. “All right boys, play nice with each other while daddy’s gone.”

  Patrick turned and looked at Mitch who was busy going through some bags and counting equipment. He walked to the ship and up the ramp and stood behind the Australian who was counting the number of harpoons they had onboard. They weren’t the small harpoons used for catching sharks by some of the locals; these were massive weapons used by whalers for centuries to stick through the tough hide of a whale and then hang on until it drowned.

  Behind them was an A-frame with a small one person submersible underneath. The sub was cylindrical and the two ends were thick, transparent plastic. A machine meant for deep dives.

  “Hi,” Patrick said.

  The Australian looked to him and smiled. “Hello hello,” he said, coming up and shaking hands. “Mitch Roberts.”

  “Patrick Russell. This is Chris.”

  “Oh right, the local boys. Nice to meet you.”

  “Those are some serious weapons,” Patrick said.

  “Well we got our
selves a serious squid. At least that’s what Taylor was telling me.”

  “That’s the rumor. Nobody’s seen it though.”

  “No, they probably wouldn’t. They’re like vampires that way; hide from the sunlight unless they’re hungry.”

  Patrick noticed an open box. The equipment inside was taken apart, but he could tell right away what it was. “Are those depth charges?”

  “Good eye, mate. Yeah, they are.”

  “You’re planning on blowing this thing up?”

  “No, in fact Taylor and I got into a sciff over that. He wants it alive, but I took some precautions anyway. Don’t think we’ll be needing them but I feel better with them here. To be honest I’m not entirely sure how they work. He’s got a man here for that. I’m a biologist.” Mitch looked over to Christopher who had picked up a contraption and was turning it over in his hands. He grabbed it from him and said, “Careful, mate. That’s a detonator with a small explosive. Could take your arms off.”

  “Well,” Christopher said, yawning, “we got some people to hire. Better get to it.”

  “Nice meeting you, Mitch.”

  “You too. Looking forward to working with you.”

  They walked off the ship and were far down the pier before Christopher said, “Nice enough guy.”

  “I don’t trust him. Those weren’t just depth charges; he had some mines there too. It’s against international law to lay mines in a sovereign nation’s waters. He’s not playing above board.”

  “Let me ask you this; other than me, do you trust anybody?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Then you’re not having to do anything different with these people.”

  Patrick looked back to Mitch who waved to him from the ship. “Yeah, but I still don’t like this.”