Lord of the Deep (6 page)

He noticed that Alison had stopped sketching. She was looking at him again. Thinking about something.

“I can’t even imagine,” she said.

“No,” Mikey said. “It’s just one of those things you have to experience, I guess.”

“Well, what about Bill?”

“Mom told me to call Jimmy down at the harbor. Jimmy radioed the news and Bill came in early. He had to give his charter his money back. But Bill . . . when he first saw that baby, he couldn’t even talk. He just looked at him. He was afraid to even touch him.”

Mikey laughed then went on.

“So was I. But now, I wrestle with him. Not hard, but . . . you know. And me and Bill, every day before we come down to the pier, we go in and look at him sleeping.”

“Bill does?”

“I guess he still can’t believe it. Crazy, huh?”

“No, not crazy.”

“Bill said once you have a kid your whole life changes. You see everything differently.”

“I guess you would,” Alison said.

“Yeah.”

Mikey turned to look out over the sea. In the distance he noticed a turbid black mass hovering above the horizon.

Birds. Thousands of them.

CHAPTER
7

“LOOK,” MIKEY SAID.

Alison stood and squinted toward the horizon. The black mass moved in surges, heaving this way and that, diving and soaring. Birds swooped down like stirred-up wasps, but more graceful. Some dive-bombed straight into the sea. Small white explosions of white water flashed when they hit.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mikey said.

“What are they doing way out there?”

“It’s not so far.”

Mikey touched her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

When he took his hand away, Alison put her hand where he’d touched her.

He hurried down the ladder thinking, You idiot, maybe she doesn’t like to be touched.

“Bill!” Mikey said, and pointed to the birds.

Bill nodded. “Saw them a while back. Take us about ten minutes to get there.”

Mikey waited a moment, watching the birds through the window. Bill turned and winked, as if to say, We’ll show these guys what fishing is all about in just a few minutes, huh?

Mikey grinned and turned to go back to the flying bridge.

Ernie was playing solitaire, now, half the deck laid out on the table in front of him neat as a tack. His lips were pursed into a kiss as he studied a card in his hand, probably thinking about where to put it.

Across from him Cal was stretched out on the bunk, snoring with his mouth gaping open.

Mikey climbed back up to the flying bridge.

“So what are the birds doing?” Alison said.

“Feeding. They’re called noio, and when you see them you can bet fish are around. Aku, kawakawa. We’ll be out there in a few minutes, and believe me, you’ll be amazed at what it feels like to be in the middle of them.”

“Really?”

“It’s awesome. Hey, can I see the picture?”

“I’m not finished yet.”

There was a snap.

A reel wailed and the stinger line from the port outrigger flailed out over the water. Mikey lunged toward the ladder.

The Crystal-C stopped dead in the water. The boat rocked wildly in its oncoming wake. Mikey hit the deck staggering. Cal got up groggy and sat on the edge of the bunk.

Ernie ran out. “Cal!” he shouted. “This one’s yours!”

“Somebody strike it!” Bill shouted from inside the cabin.

Cal leaped up to grab the screaming reel as Bill ran out. He unhooked the safety line and tried to get the rod out of its holder. But the fish was too strong. The rod bent nearly to the water. The clicker screamed and line raced off the reel. “I can’t get it out!”

Bill shoved in and yanked the rod out for him, shut off the clicker. He handed the rod to Cal. “Strike it!”

Cal took the rig and drew back, once, twice. He struggled backward to the fighting chair, the rod alive in his hands. His face was pinched and red. His cheeks and eyes bulged.

“Mikey!” Bill shouted.

Mikey snapped out of his gaping and grabbed one of the small rigs. He started pumping furiously. He should have thought to start bringing the lures in before being told to!

Ernie stood behind the fighting chair, shouting at Bill and Mikey. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

A hundred fifty yards astern the fish exploded out of the sea.

A monster blue marlin.

It leaped full out into the air, its massive sword whipping, trying to shake the lure loose. Mikey stopped reeling. The thing was staggering. It was gigantic. It looked bigger than the boat. Brilliant blue back with shimmering silver sides. Looked to be over eight hundred pounds, way over.

“Good God!” Cal shouted.

“Reel!”
Bill commanded. “Mikey, they’re going to tangle!”

Mikey blinked and reeled the extra lures in as fast as he could, throwing them on the deck. Luckily, nothing crossed the live line. His arms glistened with sweat. The muscles in his wrist and shoulder ached, numb and rubbery. The lures and their wire leaders lay in a tangled mass at his feet.

“Clean these up,” Bill shouted. “Get them out of the way.”

Bill hurried back to the controls and throttled up enough to turn the boat so that the fish stayed directly off the stern. He pulled back to a crawl and set the autopilot.

Mikey separated the lures, working fast and keeping low, staying clear of the angler. Cal’s face looked as if it would burst, trying to stop the run.

The boat rocked.

Alison crept down the ladder, stopping halfway to watch.

Ernie stood behind the fighting chair shouting at Cal. “Pull! Put your back into it.”

“For God’s sake, I’m trying to. This thing’s strong as a steamroller.”

“Mikey, hurry up with those lures,” Bill shouted. “I need you in here.”

Mikey jammed the lures and leaders into a drawer under the bunk and leaped up to slide behind the wheel.

Bill ran back out.

Mikey looked over his shoulder, focusing on the marlin, now leaping again. Under and up, never in the same spot. Mikey’s hands trembled from the excitement. This was the payoff. This was what it was all about. This was fishing, the way he wanted to live his life. Doing this. Exactly this.

The marlin went under.

Cal bent forward, stayed forward.

Bill sponged seawater over the reel to cool it down.

Moments later the blue marlin rose up again and this time it charged the boat. Straight at it. It was insane. Mikey’d never seen anything like it in his life.

Charging, great sword stabbing forward, massive head wagging.

Mikey gasped.

The marlin came at the Crystal-C like a deranged torpedo, skimming over the sea completely out of the water.

“Go! Go! Go!” Bill screamed.

Mikey slammed the throttle forward.

The engines roared. The bow rose and the boat lurched ahead. Mikey looked back at the marlin, still charging, still wanting to kill the boat and everyone and everything on it, kill, kill, kill!

Cal reeled madly, reeled and reeled and reeled, picking up the slack in the line.

The Crystal-C spewed exhaust that swirled up into the air behind the boat. Bill and Ernie grabbed on to the back of the fighting chair as the boat leaped ahead. Alison hugged the ladder with both arms.

Then the marlin vanished way down under the boat.

Sounded.

Mikey brought the throttle down quickly, then put the boat in neutral, stopping the engines, hoping the line would creep away from the props. His heart pounded in his chest.

Watch the water.

Watch, watch.

No mistakes.

He gulped air.

But for the slapping sounds of ocean against hull, the world fell eerily quiet. Mikey’s heart wouldn’t slow. He swallowed, took a deep breath. Watch the water, watch the water.

The line slowly moved away from the boat.

“Keep moving!” Bill shouted. “Keep pressure on the line.”

Mikey shoved the throttle forward. What does he mean? There
was
pressure on the line. It was taut. Wasn’t it?

As the Crystal-C once again groaned ahead, the tip of the rod bent nearly to the sea. Mikey heard Cal gasp, trying to stay in the boat, trying to keep the marlin from yanking him overboard. Mikey envisioned the terror of being suddenly pulled into the sea by some terrible thrust from the marlin.

“Jay-zus!” Ernie whooped.

Bill signaled for Mikey to bring the throttle back.

Mikey did as Bill said, looking over his shoulder. He studied the ocean. Nothing out there now but the line, tight as a tow chain. It entered the ocean directly off the stern, squeezing out drops of seawater.

Cal rested, leaning forward. He gripped the rod with both hands, his sides bellowing as he gasped for air. The fish had been on the line for about twenty minutes.

Alison stepped down on deck, but held on to the ladder.

Bill threw a kidney harness around Cal’s lower back. He attached it to the reel. “Let your back do the work.”

Again, Bill scooped a bucket of water out of the ocean and sponged down the overheated reel.

Line whirred out as the fish pulled away.

Cal started fighting again, the veins in his neck popping out like rope.

The marlin took a foot of line and Cal pulled half of that back. The fish was too strong. Cal would have to wear it down, tire it out, beat it that way. And he’d have to do it before he himself wore out.

A half hour passed. Line in, line out.

Sometimes Cal had to sit leaning forward, having no strength left, forced to watch the marlin steal more line from the reel. Sweat poured off him like rain. Mikey knew Cal could increase the drag and make it harder for the fish. But increasing the drag might snap the line.

Behind Cal, Ernie stood with a bottle of Tecate, holding it at his side, flipping it up every moment or two to take quick swigs.

Line in, line out.

That was how it worked. Back and forth, back and forth.

Mikey did his job. Perfectly. Keeping the line directly off the stern, careful not to allow even the slightest drift to the side.

Bill seemed to have forgotten about him for the moment, so Mikey figured he was doing okay. But looking back from the pilot’s seat was giving his neck a crick. He turned away, rolling his head from side to side. All he needed was a neck cramp to ruin everything.

“Mikey!” Bill shouted.

Mikey spun around.

The marlin was charging.

Again.

Coming straight at the Crystal-C, but this time underwater. Mikey could see the point where the line met the ocean, racing in toward the boat.

Cal reeled, trying to capture the slack. “Go-go-go!” Bill screamed at Mikey, his eyes wild.

Mikey rammed the throttle forward.

The boat lurched. The hull shuddered and groaned.

Mikey looked back. The line raced toward the stern, closer. Sickening fear swelled in his chest. The boat would never gain the speed to outrun it. The line was now nearly straight down off the stern, under the stern.

Under, under.

Bill careened in to the wheel, leaping toward Mikey.

Mikey hammered the throttle, but it was already as far forward as it would go. He glanced back and saw beyond the blur of Bill’s hurtling body, Cal flailing back in the fighting chair.

The rod twanged up. Line flapped loose.

Bill lunged for the wheel, shoving Mikey aside. Mikey’s cheek hit the window as Bill spun the boat to port.

“He’s gone!” Ernie shouted over the roaring engines.

Bill turned back and saw Cal staggering out of the chair, the rod straight up in his hands.

Bill slammed his palm on the wheel and quickly brought the throttle down. Mikey could smell his sweat, feel his heat.

Bill put the boat in neutral and raced aft.

Mikey fell back into the pilot’s seat, the boat rocking and rolling in the wake.

Gone.

The blue marlin was gone.

The line tangled and severed by one of the propellers.

Mikey gasped, his lungs bellowing. He put his hand to his cheek. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it banging in his throat. He felt lost, as if caught in a riptide, helpless. Hopeless.

The marlin was gone. The huge blue marlin.

Ernie glanced in at Mikey.

Mikey looked past him at Bill’s back.

Bill stood for a long while at the transom, looking into the ocean behind the boat, hands on his hips, sun boiling down.

The silence was as deep as the sea.

Cal, Ernie, even Alison, still clinging to the ladder, stood frozen, as if each was waiting for Bill to say something, do something, bring the marlin back.

Alison stepped slowly away from the ladder. She glanced into the cabin at Mikey and half smiled. Did she know it was his fault? He could not meet her eyes.

Bill leaned way out over the transom, looking into the water. He reached down and came up with a piece of line. He tugged on it, but it wouldn’t give. He tossed it back.

“Mikey,” he called without turning.

Mikey blew air from puffed cheeks and went aft, out onto the sunlit deck, passing Cal, passing Ernie, without looking at them.

Bill pointed into the water.

“The line’s caught in the port prop. Get a knife. Go down and cut it loose.”

Mikey’s scalp crawled like eel skin before Bill had even gotten all the words out. Instantly, he pictured the deep-water sharks, their bloody mouths gaping, jagged, triangular razor-sharp teeth mindlessly ripping away the dead whale’s flesh.

And now, his own flesh.

Mikey looked into the water off the back of the boat. Deeper than deep. Unimaginably deep. Fathoms of dark and infinite shark-infested ocean. Another world, a place of blood and guts and ripped flesh, a bad dream where you never knew when or where they’d get you.

Or how slow you’d have to die.

Mikey nodded, then went to get the knife.