MEG: Nightstalkers (4 page)

Nic searched the mile-and-a-half of sea separating them from San Juan Island’s coastline, then shoved the binoculars into a watertight compartment. “We’ll head south, working our way back to shore. Nice and easy, no splashing. You see a big shark fin—break for land.”

They set out, paddling quietly. Hearts raced, flesh tingled. The Cunninghams prayed aloud for God to watch over their three children. The British women whispered softly.

A shrill orca cry caused everyone to cease paddling.

Less than a mile to the northeast the surface erupted—Bela’s upper torso rising out of the sea, a twelve-foot juvenile killer whale thrashing within her hyperextended jaws.

Eric gritted his teeth as the impaled orca and the Megalodon flopped sideways in an explosion of bloody froth, the sharp
clap
reaching them on a three second delay.

“Let’s move!” Plunging his oar into the water, Nic set out on a brisk pace which forced the other kayakers to keep up. He counted a hundred strokes to the south, then cut the rudder hard and set out on a direct beeline for shore, targeting the Lime Kiln State Park lighthouse.

Now it was a race, every boater for themselves.

Ashley’s shoulder muscles ached as she pulled great gouts of water, each stroke accompanied by a grunted word. “Aren’t … you.… glad … you … listened … to … me … and … picked … the … faster … kayak!”

She was right, they were flying through the water, pulling nearly eight knots as they passed Nic Byron. Within two minutes they were thirty yards ahead of the others and had halved the distance to shore. The late afternoon sun reflected brightly off the lighthouse’s lens; waves lapped along the shoreline of Dead Man’s Cove—bloody waves.

The couple was less than fifty yards from the rock strewn beach when Eric saw the first dead orca … then the second.

And then he was airborne.

The twenty-four-ton albino had launched its upper body out of the water just ahead of the kayak, the underside of its lower jaws striking the deck of the bow so hard it flipped the plastic craft’s stern into the air like a catapult, tossing Eric Germata out of his cockpit and over the outstretched jaws of the Meg into the shallows.

The fifty-six-degree water might as well have been electrified. Seconds after sinking, Eric was scrambling awkwardly to his feet, stumbling onto land past the eviscerated remains of a beached juvenile bull orca that was bleeding out in Dead Man’s Cove.

Eric dropped to his knees in shock, the island spinning in his vision.

Then he remembered the girl. “Ashley?”

He stood, searching the cove. The shallows were littered with the bobbing, bleeding, butchered members of the orca pod, many still alive and squealing. Twenty yards from shore Lizzy’s bloodstained dorsal fin cut slowly across the surface, her thrashing caudal fin frothing the sea pink.

Eric’s eye caught movement. The others had come ashore a quarter mile to the south. He took a quick head count—Ashley was not among them.

Then he saw their touring kayak.

The craft had washed ashore, intact but upside down. Eric struggled to roll it over. He took one look inside the bow cockpit, turned his head and retched.

Ashley was still inside the watertight compartment, at least her lower torso was. Her body had been severed at the waist; her upper torso having been bitten in half as she was flung head-first into the breaching Megalodon’s open mouth.

2

Dubai Land Central International Airport
Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Located in southern Dubai, the Jebel Ali International Aerotropolis is an $82 billion complex comprised of five-star hotels and shopping malls, sixteen cargo terminals, over 100,000 parking spaces, and a high speed express rail designed to whisk upwards of 120 million passengers a year to their destinations within the UAE.

It was just after seven p.m. local time when the JetBlue commercial jet inbound from San Francisco International airport touched down in Dubai to a rousing applause from its passengers.

None were as grateful as David Taylor.

The twenty-one-year-old’s nerves were shot, having spent nearly sixteen hours seated next to his friend Jason Montgomery. Monty was a former Marine Recon medic who had his brain scrambled from a roadside explosion while he was deployed in Iraq. It wasn’t enough that the big chested, broad shouldered, heavily tattooed man with the shaved head and six inch “devils” goatee looked like he belonged in a biker gang, but the long trip in a confined space had exacerbated Monty’s bi-polarism, causing him to rant gusts of random observations almost nonstop.

“Hey Meg-Boy, did you know the word ‘tax’ comes from the Latin
taxo
, meaning ‘I estimate’? Did you know ninety percent of people who hire housekeepers and babysitters cheat on their taxes. The Bible has about seven hundred thousand words. The Federal Tax Code has three million seven hundred thousand words. Are you eating your peanuts? Humans can survive longer without food than they can without sleep. Sorry, was I keeping you awake?”

It had taken three sleeping pills and a miniature bottle of scotch for the man with the words, “PAIN DON’T HURT” inked around his neck to finally pass out—at which point his snoring kicked in.

A grizzly bear made less noise taking down an elk.

David was exhausted but afraid to sleep, fearing a night terror and its accompanying “blood-curdling” scream. As bad as Monty was, the fit and tan athlete with the long brown hair and matching almond eyes could be more frightening to his fellow passengers than the ex-Marine, so he stayed awake, forcing himself to watch movies on his iPad lest his mind drift to memories of Kaylie.

The last time David had been in Dubai, he had been hired to care for two of Angel’s “runts” while helping to tutor several dozen candidates competing for eight high-paying pilot openings on what turned out to be a sea monster hunt sponsored by the Crown Prince. Using submersibles designed by the Tanaka Institute, the Elite Eight would descend in teams into the Panthalassa Sea—a prehistoric refuge located beneath the Philippine Sea Plate—where they would attempt to lure history’s most dangerous predators up through a crater into the surface ship’s nets. The captured species would then be drugged and placed into watertight cargo holds aboard one of two refitted oil super tankers and taken back to Dubai.

In their first and only dive together, David and Kaylie had crossed paths with a mature female
Liopleurodon
—a creature whose size defied fossilized records. The Lio had killed both Angel and David’s lover. Before the monster could flee into the Western Pacific, the expedition leader, Fiesal bin Rashidi had tagged the beast with a radio transmitter.

Two months after his attempted suicide, David had reached out to the Crown Prince, wanting back in the game. The Dubai billionaire had authorized two round-trip airline tickets, but the coach seats clearly demonstrated the man’s hesitance to involve himself again with Jonas Taylor’s only son.

Grabbing their carry-on backpacks, David and Monty filed out of the jet and into the concourse, following signs to the monorails. Framed posters advertising Dubai Land were everywhere, featuring water parks and roller coaster rides, global villages, space and science worlds, petting zoos, and safaris. Another series of posters, labeled
Phase-II
depicted an artist’s rendition of twelve different aquariums, each holding an extinct nightmare of nature.

There was one with a pair of
Kronosaurus,
a crocodilian beast
. Thalassomedon
, a plesiosaur with a twenty-foot-long neck.
Shonisaurus sikanniensis
, a species of ichthyosaurus that measured seventy-five feet from its dolphin-like nose to the tip of its tail.
Dunkleosteus
, a heavily armored prehistoric fish possessing two long bony blades for teeth and
Mosasaurus
, a fifty-foot brute that dominated the Cretaceous seas.

Across the poster of
Liopleurodon ferox
was written, “the most fearsome creature ever to inhabit the planet.”

David paused to gaze at the image of an albino Megalodon—one of two “runts” the institute had sold to the Crown Prince. Neither shark had traveled well; only one had survived.

“David!”

He turned to see Ibrahim Al Hashemi, the executive director of the aquarium, waving by the monorail concourse.

“Mr. Hashemi, good to see you. You remember Monty?”

The man dressed impeccably in the three-piece tailored business suit regarded the American wearing the untucked Dodgers baseball jersey, jean shorts, gray wool socks and hiking boots. “Mr. Montgomery, I see you’ve expanded your wardrobe.”

“Yeah, I put on a few pounds. Did you know only half of a dolphin’s brain goes to sleep, while the other half stays awake?”

David rolled his eyes. “Where’s the Crown Prince?”

“He will see you at the aquarium. If you two would follow me.” The director escorted them past several long lines of travelers to sliding glass doors labeled
Dubai Land-Phase-II: Coming Soon!
Inserting a key, he turned the lock, causing the double doors to slide open.

Ibrahim Al Hashemi led them out onto a covered platform, the glass doors sealing behind him.

They boarded an empty monorail train. The car pulled away from the gate, running silently as it accelerated beyond one hundred and sixty miles an hour above the magnetized track, streaking toward Dubai Land.

David glanced out the tinted windows at a flat desert before turning to face their host. “Mr. Hashemi, how has the Meg pup adapted to its new tank?”

“She is doing quite well, as you will see.”

“She’s probably relieved at not having to share a tank with the sisters. Lizzy and Bela killed one of the runts last summer.”

“So we heard. We were more shocked to learn the two sisters had escaped. What will your family do now, with the institute having gone from six Megalodons down to none?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we can purchase one of your Meg pups when your shark gives birth?”

The Dubai man offered a confused smile. “And with what male Megalodon shall we inseminate her?”

“My father never told you? The three runts—Angelica, Mary Kate, and Ashley—weren’t conceived by a male Meg. Angel’s eggs were internally fertilized by Angel.”

Ibrahim Al Hashemi’s dark eyes widened. “Parthenogenesis? The process has been well documented in hammerhead sharks, but we were never told the two Meg pups were conceived asexually.”

“At the time we didn’t know. My father hired a specialist to find out why Bela and Lizzy were so much larger than the three runts. Turns out those two were conceived with the male Megalodon,
Scarface
, while the runts were perfect genetic clones of Angel. Even though the sisters are bigger, your Meg will catch up fast. In a few years she’ll pop out a few more females and the institute will be back in business.”

“Incredible. And what of Bela and Lizzy? Will they asexually reproduce in the wild?”

David shuddered involuntarily. “God, let’s hope not.”

*   *   *

The desert horizon gave way to the Arabian Gulf and a coastline of glittering skyscrapers. Turning away from the city, the monorail paralleled a six-lane highway which led into Dubai Land’s grand entrance. Landscaped with palm trees, colorful gardens, and “Jurassic” lakes, complete with life-size models of sea-dwelling dinosaurs, the Phase-I facility was open for business.

Phase-II was still under construction.

Laid out like a clock, with twelve unique hotels situated in the hour positions along the periphery of the park, the design fed the park’s visitors into the center attraction—the aquarium complex. A glass and steel structure, the facility featured a dozen 200-foot-high gold-plated “shark fins,” which corresponded with moving sidewalks that linked each hotel to the stadium-size arena.

A 360-degree FanVision ringed the two-hundred-acre complex, welcoming visitors in six different languages.

Monty mumbled, “Welcome to Hell’s Aquarium. Unruly guests will be eaten.”

The monorail dropped precariously and suddenly they were underground, the car braking at a subterranean entrance. David and Monty followed Ibrahim Al Hashemi into the aquarium’s northern entrance past empty ticket booths and a seven-story-high lobby.

Four wide corridors divided the twelve eighty-million-gallon tank destinations into quadrants. The facility director headed for the alcove that accessed Tanks One, Two, and Three.

T-3’s gallery was dark, marked only by floor lights. Rounding a bend, they came face to face with a forty-foot-high wall of acrylic glass.

At first it appeared as if the tank was empty … then the shark approached.

“Recognize this fellow? I believe you were credited with the catch.”

David shook his head.

The
Helicoprion
was seven feet long, its lower jaw composed of a tooth-whorl—a spirally arranged cluster of teeth resembling a buzz-saw. Born to the late Carboniferous period 310 million years ago, the species had survived in the open oceans for over sixty million years.

David turned away. “We found it in the belly of a ninety-foot Leeds’ fish. It killed the biologist that was performing a necropsy on the dead giant.”

“Big tank for such a puny shark,” Monty commented.

“The exhibit will feature other prehistoric creatures,” Al Hashemi assured them. “Come, let us visit your runt, who we have renamed Zahra.”

They returned to the alcove and entered the arena of Tank Two.

David’s eyes widened when he saw the Megalodon pup, formerly known as Ashley.

In just over six months the Meg had nearly doubled in size and had put on a solid ten tons. She was every bit as frightening as Bela and Lizzy—a mature juvenile version of her deceased seventy-four-foot albino parent.

“My God, she must be forty feet long.” David approached the tank, his sudden movement causing Zahra to charge the glass. A second before impact, searing purple bolts of electricity ignited from nodes embedded in the acrylic, the voltage momentarily scrambling the shark’s ampullae of Lorenzini, sending it veering away.