Return to The Deep (From The Deep Book 2) (10 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Immediately following the incident at Cocoa Beach, a message was sent to the C.I.A and Homeland Security to compile a list of potential people or groups who may be responsible for carrying out such a daring attack. Top of the list, above the usual animal rights activists, were the names Henry Rainwater and Clara Thompson. Within an hour of the news breaking, both had been rounded up and transported by Helicopter to the Pentagon. Deliberately kept apart from each other, they were placed into separate holding cells for questioning. Such was the importance of finding out quickly who was responsible, Tomlinson himself was on site, and insisted on being involved with the questioning. Andrews had flown in too, despite having a mammoth workload already. Tomlinson had insisted he be on site to speak to them as he had a personal relationship with both parties.

He walked the wide corridor towards where they were being held in separate rooms. He knew Tomlinson was in with Clara, and so he was left with Rainwater. He opened the door to the office where he was waiting, shocked at just how much his physical appearance had changed. When Andrews had last seen him five years earlier, he was a slim, steely eyed fisherman. Now he was a bearded, overweight, and world weary excuse for a man. Even before he could take his seat, Andrews could smell the booze seeping out of his pores. Andrews took his seat and looked Rainwater in the eye, trying to see anything of the man he once knew.

"Do you know why we brought you here?" he asked.

"I can guess. I just hope I’m wrong," Rainwater grunted.

"Have you been drinking?"

"So what if I have? Can’t a man have a drink when he wants to?"

"Looks like more than just one," Andrews countered.

"So whaddya want?"

Andrews cleared his throat. "Well, as you know, this morning there was an incident on Cocoa Beach. I assume you've seen the news."

"I don’t have a TV. Even so, before you go any further, forget it."

“Forget what?" Andrews said, genuinely confused.

"You know. I told you everything I knew about what happened in the ice cave. I also promised not to speak a word of it to anyone, which I haven’t. Whatever reason you brought me in here, I didn’t do it."

"Look, Henry, I assumed you would know why you're here, but the fact that you don’t makes this more difficult." Andrews waited for a response, and was met only by a glassy stare. "There's no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out and say it. Back when we collapsed the ross ice shelf-"

"You didn’t collapse shit. It was my friend, my best friend who did that and you and your government didn’t even acknowledge it," Rainwater slurred.

"You know the reasons for that, but frankly it's beside the point."

"No matter what your reasons, that man died a hero. Those bastard things deserved to die."

"We captured one."

For the first time, Rainwater appeared to be paying attention. The glaze lifted from his eyes and he sat up straight in his seat. "What do you mean?"

"It wasn’t intentional. One of the juveniles escaped the ice cave before it collapsed. It swam straight into our holding tank on the battleship we had prepared for the adult."

"You better be joking, Andrews."

"No, I’m not. We moved the creature to a secured facility in Florida where it's been under observation ever since. That was, until this morning. We were transporting the creature to a new location when the truck was hijacked. Long story short, the creature was set free and we want you to help us get it back."

"You're telling me there is another one of those things out there in the ocean?"

Andrews loosened his tie, squirming under the fierce gaze of Rainwater. "Yes, I’m afraid so."

He expected Rainwater to scream or perhaps even launch himself across the desk. Instead, he leaned in, speaking in a near whisper, the alcohol on his breath hot and pungent. "You know what we went through to kill that thing.
All
of us. You know the sacrifices we made."

"I know, please-"

"My friend died to make sure that thing was stopped.
You
agreed it had to happen. You were there."

"Henry, please-"

"And now you drag me in here to tell me you've had one in captivity for all this time, and now that it's escaped you want
my
help to find it."

"Just let me explain. I-"

"Shut up," Rainwater hissed. "Let me make it crystal clear for you. This isn’t my problem anymore. Whatever it is you want, I’m not interested. This fucking monster has already taken too much from me. It's left me a shell. My friend died, my brother's widow couldn’t take anymore and killed herself. Don’t you think I've sacrificed enough?"

"Please, calm down. Let me explain what we need-"

"No. I don’t want to know. This is your monster now. You clean up the mess."

"Henry, listen to reason. You know how dangerous this creature is. If we don’t capture it before it reaches its full size, then-"

"Save it. I'm not interested. You might be better speaking to Clara. She's a money grabbing attention seeking bitch these days by all accounts. I’m sure she'd help you if you waved a handful of money at her."

"Please, Henry, you have a responsibility-"

"No, I don’t. My responsibility ended when that ice cave came down. If you chose to capture this thing and then let it go again, then it's your responsibility. I don’t have the strength to go through this again."

"Can you live with yourself if this thing starts to kill again?" Andrews asked.

“I struggle to live with myself every day as it is. You think I didn’t see it on your face when you walked in here? Fucking look at me. This is what your creature did to me. Nothing good can come from this. Only pain and death. You should have left it to die with its mother."

"Henry, please, you're making a huge mistake."

"No,
you're
the one who made the mistake. This time you can deal with it yourself. You're no better than Russo."

"That's below the belt," Andrews said. "You must understand there's a chain of command. I have orders too, it's how it works."

"I don’t care about that. I just want out of here."

"What is there for you out there? What kind of life are you going back to? How long will getting shitfaced drunk everyday satisfy you? This is a chance to redeem yourself, it-"

"You may as well just stop. Yes I drink, but only to blot out the pain of what happened last time. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but I’ll tell you this, it's better than the thought of going out after that thing again. Not after what happened last time."

"Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?" Andrews said.

"This fish could eat its way around every coastline from here to Australia, and you still couldn’t get me to go out there. Get some other idiot to do your dirty work. You're wasting your time asking me."

Andrews nodded. Far from being surprised, he could actually see Rainwaters point for the most part. The man had already suffered enough, and by the condition he was in, there was no way he had anything to do with the creature escaping.

"Oaky, Henry," he said with a sigh, "point taken. If you wait here I’ll have someone escort you off the premises."

"You have to kill this thing. You must know capturing it isn’t an option."

It was the most lucid thing Rainwater had said since he arrived. For a split second, Andrews saw beyond the fog induced by alcohol to the man who Rainwater used to be.

"Well, that won’t be your concern. Soon enough, you'll be back to your life of drinking and self-pity."

"Forget the guilt trip. This is your mess. Not mine."

“And I’ll clean it up.”

“By killing it?”

“As I said, that’s not your concern.”

“You surely know that trying to capture this thing is a mistake? Remember what happened last time. Really think about it.”

“I remember, and trust me, I won’t make the same mistakes again.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Greg Michaels threw another shot of Vodka down his neck, the fire barely bothering him anymore. Perched on the end seat of the bar in his usual spot, he rapped his knuckles on the oak surface. Like magic, the bartender appeared, refilling his glass, knowing by now not to make small talk. The leather skinned Australian pushed his fringe out of his eyes and thought it was a wonder how easily he had adapted to doing things left handed. The fleshy stump of his right hand brought back memories - memories of the time when everything went to hell. Many things were hazy in his day to day life, which seemed to muddle from one day to the next, a monotonous groundhog day of misery and frustration. The memories of
that
day though, would never die. He closed his eyes and it came to him in all too horrific clarity - the day, which had started out as an easy charter to take a tourist shark spotting and ended in disaster.

It had all gone fine until he and his paying customer was down in the cage and some...
thing
came out of the darkness, which changed the trajectory of his life forever. Something so immense it defied logic. He took another sip from his glass, savouring both flavour and memories alike.

The creature propelled itself forward. Greg watched in awe as its greenish grey body passed him, and so large was the creature, it filled his field of vision for what felt like an age. He saw a sliver of sharp teeth in the partially open jaw, as the vast animal snagged the side of beef away with a single, effortless bite. He knew he should check on his client, but was so mesmerised by the giant yards away from him, he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from it. The creature nudged the cage as it passed, and for a split second, Greg lost his grip, snatching twice at the bars before managing to restore his hold. It was then he saw the great white ascend from below. It was big, at least an eighteen footer. Even it looked tiny in comparison to the immense creature. The white had been drawn in by the bloody carcass, and unlike its brethren, it had not fled from the creature. It was only when Greg saw the other sharks appearing out of the darkness that he thought he understood what was happening. Hunters in their own right, the sharks were ready to respond to the new threat by challenging its supremacy.

It was at that precise second that fear replaced the thrill, and Greg turned towards his client, who was still staring wide eyed at the creature. It seemed he hadn't noticed the sharks, which Greg thought could be a good thing. He shook Paul by the shoulder, snapping him to attention. His intention had been to give the instruction to ascend, yet, when he looked towards the surface, the path was blocked by great whites, which were circling and waiting to attack. As experienced as he was, he would never risk swimming to the surface, especially as the whites looked ready to attack at any given moment. Instead, he pointed to the cage, swimming to the roof and pulling open the hatch. Paul had noticed the sharks now too, and his eyes flicked wildly between the giant creature and its potential attackers. Greg banged on the cage to get Paul's attention, watching as one of the whites cautiously darted closer to the creature, then retreated. He banged his fist on the cage roof again, and although Paul briefly looked at him, he didn't move. He released his grip on the door and moved towards the edge of the cage roof, grabbing Paul by the shoulder and finally getting his attention. Perhaps it was the fear or desperation in his eyes, or the gravity of the situation finally hitting home which forced him into action. He inched his way up the side of the cage between frightened glances at the gathering sharks. Greg dragged him the rest of the way, yanked open the hatch and shoved Paul inside. He followed and pulled the door closed, and not a moment too soon. One of the larger whites, a twenty two foot male, charged towards the creature and snapped at one of its tentacles. The reaction was devastating. The creature lunged for the shark, shearing away a huge flap of its underbelly in a single bite. As the great white convulsed and sank into the depths, its brethren as one began to attack.

Greg picked up his vodka shot with a shaking hand and finished it in one, hoping it would hurry and blot out the rest. It never worked though. It never stopped it replaying in his mind. Once again, he knocked on the bar and waited until his glass was filled. The shark attack was terrifying enough, but even that didn’t compare to what came next. The creature had fought them off easily, decimating them as if they were no more than a minor annoyance. One of the sharks the creature had attacked - an eighteen foot male - had slewed away from the creature, its underbelly sheared away, blood and entrails churning into the ocean, and had come to rest on the cage roof, pinning the hatch closed and showering Greg and his customer with hot blood and innards. As terrifying as it was, it paled in comparison to the sight of the creature as it came towards the cage to finish off its meal. That was when he knew they would have to escape, and as the creature approached, Greg swam to the top of the cage, desperately trying to open the hatch and get to freedom. Even now, years after the fact, he liked to convince himself he was looking to help his customer too, yet he knew deep down it was his own self-preservation which was key. Something had happened then. Some kind of immense explosion under the surface, which sealed the fate of both him and Mr Milla, and shaped the future in which he was now a prisoner.

Greg had managed to force enough of the hatch open against the dead weight of the shark's corpse when the concussion wave hit. The shockwave rocked the cage violently, snapping his hand – which was trapped between cage and hatch- like kindling. With no protection from the blast, Paul was slammed against inner wall of the cage, his head smashing against the bars as he was flung like a ragdoll. With his mangled hand trapped in the hatch and the full weight of the shark's body pinning it down, Greg hung helplessly, trying to shake away the ringing in his ears as he peered through his cracked facemask. Something caught his eye. He looked around as multiple species of dead fish began to float to the surface. All sizes, all varieties. He saw a dolphin, floating vertically past the cage rotating in a graceful arc as it climbed. The ocean had gone from battleground to a macabre showcase of the dead, as species after species floated to the surface.

He had heard about this before. Some people used to fish this way back before it was made illegal. Blast fishing where dynamite would be tossed into the water would cause the stunned fish's swim bladders to rupture, resulting in a horrible, painful death. Although he could see a huge number of animals floating to the surface, he knew it could have been worse, as many of the larger species of fish had already fled away from the carnage that had taken place.  He shifted position where he hung by his arm, biting down hard on his regulator as pain jolted from his wrist. It was then that he saw the creature. It too was motionless and gently floating belly up towards the surface, its tentacles splayed out and drifting in the current. Again, he was mesmerised by the sheer scale of the animal. It was completely unlike anything else he had ever seen before, and fears aside, he appreciated its majesty.

In the cage, Greg struggled to free himself. His ears were still ringing from the explosion, and salt water dripped into his eyes from the hairline crack in his facemask, but he was otherwise in reasonable shape. He stopped flailing and checked the gauge on his trapped right hand, confirming his fears. The small wristwatch like device told him the air tank on his back was running dangerously close to empty. He estimated he had less than fifteen minutes of air left before he would drown. The thought of death renewed his energy, and he redoubled his efforts, alternating between trying to yank his arm free and getting enough leverage to displace the shark corpse, neither of which seemed to be doing anything but sending explosive jolts of paint through his broken wrist. He began to suck air greedily from the regulator, knowing every breath was precious but still unable to help himself. On the floor of the cage, Paul didn't stir, and had slumped to the side, a steady cloud of blood mushrooming from the wound in the back of his head. Faced with the fact he was never going to be able to move the dead shark that was pinning the lid of the cage closed, Greg knew he would have to make a drastic choice. The floor of the cage was also hinged in case of emergency, and he knew it was his one and only way out. First, he had to free himself. He looked at his mangled hand, and realised what he needed to do.

How much do you want to live?

He asked himself as he twisted and tugged at his arm.

How far will you go to survive?

It was then that absolute clarity came to him and he stopped struggling. It was extreme, and he knew he would have to do it quickly before his air supply ran out. Despite the urgency, there were a lot of questions he didn't have the answer to.

Could he go through with it?

Could he withstand the pain, and if he did, could he get to a doctor in time?

What if he passed out halfway through?

Answers or no answers, it didn't matter. There was no other choice. Taking a deep breath of precious air, he unsheathed the hunting knife from his diving belt, the blade warping the light as he held it to his face. It was a good knife. Sharp too.  He hoped it wouldn't hurt, maybe if enough numbness had set in...

No.

Enough delays. He had a job to do, and every second was precious.

Pleasedonthurtpleasedonthurtpleasedonthurt

He repeated it over and over in his head, praying he would have the strength to do what needed to be done. As he began to hack through the soft flesh of his wrist, prying bone away from bone, shearing tendon and flesh, brilliant, white hot agony surged through his body, and he bit on the regulator hard enough to fracture two teeth. As he carved away at his wrist through a cloud of blood, tears streaming down his face and mingling with the salt water that had already penetrated the mask, another question came to him.

What happens if the creature wakes up?

He looked down at his stump, resting it on the bar.

Yes.

There are certain extremes a man will go to in order to survive. Extremes that to some might be beyond their ability to complete or even comprehend. The question was always the same, and a simple one at that. The question was: How much did a person want to live? At that time, Greg wanted to live more than anything else in the world, which made the next decision frighteningly simple. Even so, the pain was unreal. Unlike anything else he had ever experienced or would ever be able to express to anyone who might ask him how it felt. Although he could never explain it, he could remember it more than well enough. Like the rest, it was still fresh in his mind.

Somehow, he hadn't passed out. Maybe it was the adrenaline or the desire to survive. Whatever the reason, Greg was still conscious. It had been close. The soft tissues weren't too bad, but the nerves felt charged with millions of vaults of electricity, as he had sliced through them. Even so, he was still woozy. The knife grinding against bone as he separated his wrist had sounded incredibly loud in his head, and he had to count backwards from ten to keep conscious. Knife blade trembling, he cut through the last of the gristle and was at last free, sinking to the bottom of the cage and leaving a mushrooming cloud of blood behind as if he were some kind of bizarre distress flare. The relief lasted only for seconds until the pain found him, bringing his nerve endings alive with fierce agony. He clutched his bleeding stump to his chest, and sank towards the bottom of the cage.

Fortunately, he had been able to open the secondary hatch in the cage floor and escape, swimming to the surface and coaxing his customer’s wife to help activate the controls and pull the winch to the surface. There was no sign of the creature which had attacked them, and even though they managed to get the cage up, dislodge the dead shark and free Mr Milla, he died before help could arrive, the force of the explosion slamming him against the cage and splitting his skull like a ripe melon. One thing that had eluded Greg almost daily since it happened is why he hadn’t gone for the floor hatch from the start. He supposed it was pointless to worry too much about it, and suspected under the unique circumstances, he could be forgiven. However, that didn’t change things for his recently deceased customer, or the grieving widow he left behind.

Later, Mrs Milla would file charges against him for gross negligence. Advised to settle out of court for way more than he could afford, he had paid her off and lost his business in the process. Nobody of course believed him about the creature. Why would they? Even so, that beast had managed in just a few moments to destroy his life totally. Now, he had become a bitter recluse, living out his days scraping by on what little disability money he received from the government, and drifting through life with an ever burning anger and frustration towards the creature and the mess it had made of his life.

It was because of this he had been listening in to the conversation on the table behind him. He had taken a good look at the group when he had passed them on his way to the bathroom. Three men and two women, late teens to early twenties at a guess. They had been speaking in hushed tones about the Cocoa Beach incident, and Greg was more certain they were involved with every passing moment. More interesting was their description as they spoke of what was in the trailer.

It sounded for all the world like the same creature (although on a smaller scale) which had destroyed his life. Draining his glass, he watched as the bartender approached to refill it. Greg shook his head.