meg generations, page 36
part #6 of meg Series
Pulling back on the joystick, Jonas barrel-rolled the Manta over the plesiosaur’s snapping jaws―
―only to be bashed sideways by another and another, the sea floor rushing up at him …
* * *
Mac had described Dr. Michael Day as Eastern philosophy applied to Western fears.
"You need someone trained to deal with these kinds of issues, J.T. His office is in Suite 208; go up the stairs and turn right … he’s expecting you."
Jonas exited the Cadillac convertible, angry at Mac’s deception in getting him to meet with his shrink.
"What brings you here, Mr. Taylor?"
"James Mackreides."
"I asked ‘what’ not ‘who.’ Surely there must be something in your life that I might be able to offer you a few tools to deal with better."
"All right. How about fear?"
"That depends. There is healthy fear and there is unhealthy fear. For instance, the fear of death is not constructive―death is merely the passage into a higher realm. The key to overcoming the fear of death is to meet this inevitability with a controlled mind."
"What about the fear of being trapped?"
"All fear, Mr. Taylor comes from our own uncontrolled minds. To quote Shantideva in the Guide to the Bodhisattva’s Way of Life, ‘all fears and all infinite sufferings arise from the mind. While it is not possible to control all
external events; if I simply control my mind, what need is there to control other things?’ "
"And how does one control the fear and anxiety of being separated from the person you love more than anyone in the world? My wife … she’s been in a coma for ten months."
"I am so sorry. And how does that make you feel?"
"Angry."
"Because there is nothing you can do about it?"
"Yes."
"The root of all fear, Mr. Taylor, comes from our ignorance of our own existence. Without getting too deeply into this profound subject, life is the dream; what follows is the true reality, and it is our conviction that things exist independently of our mind that is the source of all our fear."
"And how do I deal with it?"
"By understanding that while we are in the samsara―the process of birth, death, and rebirth―we will continuously be separated from all the conditions that make us feel safe―our home, our family, our friends, our money and possessions, and our physical health. If we are not separated from these conditions before death, we will be separated from them at death. What happens to us afterward depends on the karma we have created in this life or in previous lives. This is not something we like to hear, but it is the truth."
"When you are frightened, ask yourself what you are actually frightened of. Our fear of death is unhealthy; it is simply part of the process. A healthy fear of death would be the fear of dying unprepared. Our focus, therefore, should be on the things that we can actually take with us―the imprints of the positive and negative actions we have generated. Instead of fear, our focus should be on purifying our negative karma while accumulating as much good karma as we can."
"And how do I do that?"
"The greatest protector against fear, Mr. Taylor, is love."
* * *
Jonas opened his eyes to a throbbing headache and a dark cabin, framed by a soft glow coming from outside. It took several disorienting moments to realize he was hanging upside down from his bucket seat, the Manta buried nose-first in the sea floor’s muddy bog.
Pressing the balls of his feet to the dashboard, he redistributed his weight, allowing just enough slack to release the seat’s harness. He caught himself as he dropped, the redistributed weight sending the sub’s tail flipping over onto its back, pancaking the craft upside down.
Sonuva bitch!
Standing on the ceiling, he reached up to the power button and restarted the sub’s engines. Unable to climb up and strap himself into the inverted chair, he pushed the joystick all the way to the right and tapped one of the accelerator pedals with his free hand, flipping the Manta right side up while sending himself flying head first into the starboard bucket seat.
Ow … damn it!
Climbing over the dashboard divider, he resituated himself at the port controls and gazed out the windshield―just as the 60-foot Mosasaur charged.
Shit! Slamming his right foot to the starboard pedal, he wrenched the joystick hard to the right, swerving around the charging crocodilian monster.
Jonas quickly buckled in before stealing a glance at sonar. The creatures were everywhere―all moving in the same direction as if being summoned to the Panthalassa’s version of Mecca.
The Dragon Pods … could the spheres be attracting them?
Remaining close to the sea floor, he replotted his course, shadowing a school of enormous Leed’s fish as he raced to the northwest.
Tanaka Lagoon
The Liopleurodon had already entered the lagoon by the time David had climbed down the tanker’s cargo net hanging from its port side to the cement foot path running along top of the canal’s north wall.
He looked up as the giant pliosaur shot out of the lagoon like an 80-foot seal, landing upon the deck of the
Meg Pen in one frightening burst of motion. The Lio’s presence chased Luna to the bottom of her tank as David reached the inner gate.
Locating the walkie-talkie in his jacket pocket, he fished it out, struggling to catch his breath. Monty?
Yeah, go ahead.
Contact someone … in the control room. Turn on … the Meg Pen’s lights.
David reached the main deck in time to see the Lio dive head first into the dark pool of water. No!
The pliosaur was faster and longer than its adversary, but its body was not as powerful as the shark’s, its jaws nowhere near as lethal. Gauging the dimensions of the small circular tank, the predator quickly realized it had made a fatal error.
As it spun around and retreated to the surface, the aquarium’s underwater lights turned on blinding the nocturnal creature.
Incensed by the pliosaur’s presence in her territory, Luna launched an assault from below, her jaws biting deep into the Lio’s right hind flipper. As it whipped its albino head to and fro, like a dog playing tug-o-war, its six-inch serrated teeth sliced through sinew and bone, tearing off the entire appendage in a crimson cloudburst.
Disoriented from the lights and in a sudden state of panic, the injured Lio attempted to flee the tank, only its forelimbs weren’t quite powerful enough to propel it over the five-foot-high steel guard rail surrounding the habitat. As it attempted to drag itself over the barrier Luna slammed her hyperextended jaws upon the creature’s stubby tail, dragging it back inside the tank.
* * *
David ran to the supply locker and attempted to open Monty’s com-bination lock. Monty quickly―what’s the combination to the lock on the foot locker?
You mean the one with the electric zapper? Uh … oh shit, don’t tell me.
David heard someone demanding the cell phone. David, it’s Mac. What the hell are you thinking about doing?
I’m not gonna let Junior kill my shark … no way!
What makes you think she needs your help?
David turned, his eyes widening in disbelief as Luna’s head rose out of the water, her jaws wrapped around the Liopleurodon’s soft midsection. Clamping down, the Meg sent a burst of internal organs blasting out of its prey’s crocodilian mouth seconds before its head disappeared beneath the spreading scarlet surface.
Yeah! Kill that bitch!
Thirty seconds passed. With a whoosh, Luna’s albino head broke the surface, its upper torso quivering as it fought to remain suspended above the frothing pink water, the broken remains of its challenger grasped within her bloodstained jaws.
My God … she’s showing her kill to the moon.
The Meg shook the lifeless Lio from side to side, its serrated teeth tearing through gristle and bone, the action sending swells of bloody froth pouring across the deck of the Tanaka Lagoon in every direction.
Hey kid, you okay?
Yeah, Mac. Helluva show.
Aren’t they all. Just thought you’d like to know the funds were wired into your account. Prince Walid is now the proud owner of a $50 million corpse.
Aboard Manta-4
Panthalassa Sea
Jonas spotted the DP-3 in a clearing up ahead. The glowing orange sphere resembled a Blood Moon during a lunar eclipse, the object casting its ethereal glow upon a second object located on the sea floor.
This is Captain Ng aboard Dragon Pod-3. Who is piloting the Manta?
He reached for the radio. Jonas Taylor. My wife … is she―
Jonas!
Terry … thank God― Tears poured from his eyes, his limbs trembling. Is Dulce with you?
Yes. Jonas, we’re using our lights to communicate in Morse Code to the survivors on-board DP-2. They’re running out of air.
Have them open the outer door of the wet dock, I’m on my way.
Jonas, wait … there’s a Meg circling the killing field … it’s black, with a gray underbelly. Very difficult to see … She’s bigger than Angel and just as aggressive.
Jonas glanced at his sonar.
The blip appeared in the northeast quadrant, the Meg’s presence scattering the clusters of life forms gathered along the perimeter. His pulse raced as the large animal accelerated straight for him, its intentions clear.
Jonas―
I see her. Tell DP-2 I’m on my way. Jamming both foot pedals to the floor, he raced to the downed pod―
―the sonar blip intent on cutting him off before he reached the sphere.
He arrived ten seconds ahead of her, but still could not see the camouflaged beast. Knowing the Meg queen was close, he looped around the southeast side of the DP-2, his eyes searching the olive-green void for the entrance to the wet dock.
A blinking red light appeared up ahead along the sphere’s western flank as the blip closed on him from the south. How am I supposed to dock moving this fast?
Jonas passed the flooded open hangar. Pulling back on the joystick, he executed a tight barrel roll to the west, followed by a stomach-churning 360-degree loop―
―the maneuver placing the open wet dock directly in front of him and the Manta in the path of the charging Megalodon!
Pushing down hard on the joystick, he slipped beneath the shark’s massive pectoral fins and shot through the open passage doing twenty knots.
Jonas pulled back on the joystick at the last second, raising the Manta’s prow so that the sub’s curved belly rolled up along the back wall, the impact reduced by a thick protective net.
* * *
Huh? Jonas opened his eyes to bright lights and bare fists pound-ing on the Manta’s cockpit glass. Reaching his right hand into the central console, he popped open the hatch, the dull ache in the front of his head introducing him to his mild concussion.
Warm, salty air rushed into the cockpit, accompanied by enthusiastic backslaps and thank yous, directed at
him in English and Chinese. Introductions were made as the crew hurriedly climbed inside the two-man cockpit.
Lee Huang, helmsman.
Bingbing Midway, assistant to Dr. Jernigan.
Chenli Gan, biologist.
Dr. Vicky Xu, oncologist.
Danny Wu, Captain.
Sara Jernigan. This is my mission; if there is no more room I’ll remain behind.
Jonas glanced at the three women squeezed in together in the co-pilot’s seat and the two men lying prone in the storage compartment in back. I guess I’m making a second trip, doc.
Excuse me, said Dr. Wu, why could Dr. Jernigan not ride in your lap?
I need to be able to pilot the sub. That means two legs and my right arm―unrestricted. Not to mention we’re already running heavy. Everyone onboard has to be strapped in tight enough to handle a barrel roll without flying free.
We’re good, said the three women in the co-pilot’s seat.
Good back here, said the two men wedged in storage.
Sara shrugged. Be careful.
I’ll be back soon, Jonas said. Activating the Lexan dome, he resealed the cockpit.
Dr. Jernigan waved and then returned to the wet dock control room.
Two minutes later the chamber began filling with seawater.
Jonas grabbed the radio’s mic. DP-3, come in.
Static.
Damn … no telling where that Meg is. And we’re a lot heavier now.
He activated the Manta’s headlights, turning the beams on high.
The chamber began pressurizing: 5,000 psi … 8,000 …
At 19,460 psi the chamber’s internal lights flashed green, the outer door opening―
Jonas jammed both feet to the propulsion pedals, sending the Manta accelerating out the open passage―the drag on the craft immediately noticeable.
The radio crackled to life.
… circling back to intercept.
Terry?
We see you, Jonas. So does the Meg. Come to course three-zero-five; we’ll escort you in.
Escort me in? He looked down at his sonar screen. The Meg was coming at him from below and to the west, another sub racing in from above.
They’re in the Sting Ray …
* * *
Dulce pushed down on the joystick, sending the Sting Ray racing past the rising Manta on a collision course with the dark-striped monster. Charge ready?
Ready, Terry yelled back.
Crank it up!
The 10,000-volt electromagnetic pulse rippled out from the dual antenna anchored beneath the sub’s prow, scrambling the Megalodon’s ampullae of Lorenzini. The 80-ton predator gyrated from side to side before veering away, racing back to the sea floor.
The two women high-fived. That’ll teach that bitch to mess with my man.
Amen, Momma.
* * *
Jonas’s face hurt from smiling. Ladies, that was awesome. I’m dropping off this first group; then I have one more passenger to pick up.
Roger, dodger. We’ll escort you in.
* * *
It took twenty minutes to wet dock the Manta aboard Dragon Pod-3. Alone again in the sub, Jonas accelerated out of the flooded chamber, reaching for the radio.
Dulce, where are you?
On your six. You need to make this pick up fast, something’s happening out there.
What do you mean?
Terry responded. Jonas, there are huge holes along the sea floor … we think they could be magma tubes. The other life forms are abandoning the area―an eruption may be imminent.
Geez. Okay, I’ll be quick.
The Manta entered DP-2’s open wet dock. Jonas set the sub down facing the exit as the chamber resealed.
Two minutes passed … and nothing happened, the compartment remaining flooded and under pressure.
Come on!
He tried the radio, but there was only static.
Another minute passed in darkness, Jonas on the verge of freaking out. Stay calm …
Metallic clicks echoed inside the dark, sealed space.
The backup generator is shot. There’s no power to activate the pumps.
Sweat poured down his face. You’re trapped.
His limbs began to shake uncontrollably.
You saw this coming when we landed in Guam, yet here you are! He recalled his high school football coach’s favorite saying, Fellas, do you know what a shithead is? A shithead is someone who sees a pile of shit on the sidewalk, knows it’s a pile of shit, and steps in it anyway.
Jonas Taylor … shithead.
The interior lights flickered on.
Come on, baby!
The pressure gauge illuminated, descending backwards from 19,460 PSI.
That a girl!
At 0.00 the pumps engaged, the water draining quickly.
Green light! Jonas popped the hatch as Dr. Jernigan dashed out of the control room carrying a heavy backpack, the chamber already starting to refill. Tossing the bag inside, she climbed in after it as Jonas resealed the cockpit.
Sorry. Backup generator was shot after the first load. I had to drain the last ounce of power from the life-support system.
Will that be enough?
Ask me again in seven minutes.
The chamber filled with seawater, the internal pressure rising―
―the gauge stopping at 12,729 psi.
Jonas punched the cushioned panel by his left elbow. Oh, come on.
Sara Jernigan laid her head back and sighed. Welcome to the last two weeks of my existence. Sorry you were dragged down here with me.
Jonas grabbed the radio. Terry, if you can hear me―we’re trapped inside the flooded wet dock. If there’s any way for you to blast open the outside door―do it!
I didn’t know these subs were armed with weapons?
They weren’t. They were re-equipped after the DP-2 was attacked.
How long will your life support system last?
Longer than our water supply. The immediate problem is the magma tubes.
What magma tubes?
The ones surrounding this fossil graveyard. An eruption must be coming; the sea creatures are all abandoning the area.
That means they’re back …
They? Who’s they?
Sweetie, you don’t want to―
A brilliant flash ignited as the Panthalassa Sea engulfed the chamber door, the water, and the Manta in one massive gulp.
* * *
Hey fella, you okay?
Jonas opened his eyes. The Manta was resting on the sea floor, the Sting Ray hovering above and in front of them.
What happened?
Your friends in that sub must have blasted open the wet dock door. We gotta haul ass; we’re right by its lair.
The sonar alert cut him off.
He saw it emerge from the hole and rise behind the Sting Ray, it’s outstretched jaw nearly dislocating as the 187-foot long Titanoboa Panthalassic engulfed the entire sub in one horrific bite, the craft’s contours visible as it was propelled down the sea snake’s expanding gullet.
For a long second its viperous yellow eyes, translucent in the Manta’s headlights, stared at Jonas Taylor.
And then the soulless creature disappeared tail-first into its lair.
Jonas Taylor will return in
the 7th MEG novel:
