instead of a natural krill filter.
He said a prayer repeatedly, it was something his grandmother had taught him to say when he was small and afraid of the dark. The sun may have been beating down on him, but there was certainly the darkness of death all around and not just because the water was clouded with blood.
Hek felt a jolt and cried out as the bow shook and started to tip to the side. If it turned all the way over, it would fill with water and sink in seconds, then he’d have nothing to cling to. That’s when he realized that he still gripped the knife he normally kept in his boot. He was more than surprised he hadn’t dropped it in all of the chaos. Not that a ten inch blade would do much against a hundred foot predator.
The blade glinted in the sun and Hek looked down at it and his reflection in the metal. He turned it this way and that and squinted every time the reflection hit his eyes. Then he focused past the knife and into the water. There was a darkness below that hadn’t been there seconds before. Hek knew exactly what the darkness was.
Death was coming to get him.
Just as the shark burst from the water, taking the rest of the ship and Hek entirely into its mouth, Hek put his knife to his own throat and dragged it across as fast as possible. He had no desire to be swallowed whole and digested alive. His life was his to take, not some creature from a monster movie.
***
Tank Top waited until the Zodiac was locked in place and lines secured before he attempted to help get Slaps’ bulk onto the deck of the SS Monkey Balls, a 50 meter cutter outfitted to be ready for almost any contingency. Although he was pretty sure the next couple days would test the MB to its limits. Not that it hadn’t been tested before plenty of times.
“Ready to go see an old friend, girl?” he said to himself.
“What?” Slaps grunted. “What the fuck you saying?”
“Nothing. You good, Slaps?” Tank Top asked. “Need me to carry your baby ass down to the infirmary?”
“Fuck you, Tank,” Slaps grimaced as he tried to put weight on his wounded foot. “I can handle myself.”
“Then go for it, big guy,” Tank Top grinned as he let go of Slaps and watched the man try to hobble his way across the deck, leaving a trail of bloody one-sided footprints.
Slaps made it about six feet before he teetered and then toppled over, his head hitting the metal deck with a loud thunk that sent the seagulls resting up on the communications array screeching and flying into the air.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Tank Top laughed then pointed at Lug. “Go get some help and have Shabby Paul ready for a transfusion. I think our friend has lost a little blood.”
Lug nodded and took off quickly across the deck and into the first hatch he came to.
“What the fuck did you do to Slaps?” a huge black man shouted from the hatchway of the bridge. “You try to shave the fucking ape and he give you shit for it?”
“The weed bitch shot him,” Tank Top said as he jogged to the ladder and climbed up to the bridge. “Actually, she dropped her pistol and it went off.”
“An accidental bullet?” the black man laughed. He was tall, more than half a foot taller than Tank Top, and wore a spotless white t-shirt that had to be a size too small as it hugged the layers of muscle that made up his arms and torso. “Figures it would be an accident to take down that sasquatch.”
“Don’t let him hear you call him that, Bokeem,” Tank Top laughed. “He’ll fucking kill you in your sleep.”
“I don’t sleep,” Bokeem replied, “you know that.”
Tank Top looked out at the five other ships following behind the MB and growled. “They didn’t waste any time getting to us.”
“Can’t be helped,” Bokeem said. “The cartels and Somalis are paying our employer. They want to come, then that’s their deal.”
“As long as they stay out of our way and just act as muscle when we need them,” Tank Top said, “and
He said a prayer repeatedly, it was something his grandmother had taught him to say when he was small and afraid of the dark. The sun may have been beating down on him, but there was certainly the darkness of death all around and not just because the water was clouded with blood.
Hek felt a jolt and cried out as the bow shook and started to tip to the side. If it turned all the way over, it would fill with water and sink in seconds, then he’d have nothing to cling to. That’s when he realized that he still gripped the knife he normally kept in his boot. He was more than surprised he hadn’t dropped it in all of the chaos. Not that a ten inch blade would do much against a hundred foot predator.
The blade glinted in the sun and Hek looked down at it and his reflection in the metal. He turned it this way and that and squinted every time the reflection hit his eyes. Then he focused past the knife and into the water. There was a darkness below that hadn’t been there seconds before. Hek knew exactly what the darkness was.
Death was coming to get him.
Just as the shark burst from the water, taking the rest of the ship and Hek entirely into its mouth, Hek put his knife to his own throat and dragged it across as fast as possible. He had no desire to be swallowed whole and digested alive. His life was his to take, not some creature from a monster movie.
***
Tank Top waited until the Zodiac was locked in place and lines secured before he attempted to help get Slaps’ bulk onto the deck of the SS Monkey Balls, a 50 meter cutter outfitted to be ready for almost any contingency. Although he was pretty sure the next couple days would test the MB to its limits. Not that it hadn’t been tested before plenty of times.
“Ready to go see an old friend, girl?” he said to himself.
“What?” Slaps grunted. “What the fuck you saying?”
“Nothing. You good, Slaps?” Tank Top asked. “Need me to carry your baby ass down to the infirmary?”
“Fuck you, Tank,” Slaps grimaced as he tried to put weight on his wounded foot. “I can handle myself.”
“Then go for it, big guy,” Tank Top grinned as he let go of Slaps and watched the man try to hobble his way across the deck, leaving a trail of bloody one-sided footprints.
Slaps made it about six feet before he teetered and then toppled over, his head hitting the metal deck with a loud thunk that sent the seagulls resting up on the communications array screeching and flying into the air.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Tank Top laughed then pointed at Lug. “Go get some help and have Shabby Paul ready for a transfusion. I think our friend has lost a little blood.”
Lug nodded and took off quickly across the deck and into the first hatch he came to.
“What the fuck did you do to Slaps?” a huge black man shouted from the hatchway of the bridge. “You try to shave the fucking ape and he give you shit for it?”
“The weed bitch shot him,” Tank Top said as he jogged to the ladder and climbed up to the bridge. “Actually, she dropped her pistol and it went off.”
“An accidental bullet?” the black man laughed. He was tall, more than half a foot taller than Tank Top, and wore a spotless white t-shirt that had to be a size too small as it hugged the layers of muscle that made up his arms and torso. “Figures it would be an accident to take down that sasquatch.”
“Don’t let him hear you call him that, Bokeem,” Tank Top laughed. “He’ll fucking kill you in your sleep.”
“I don’t sleep,” Bokeem replied, “you know that.”
Tank Top looked out at the five other ships following behind the MB and growled. “They didn’t waste any time getting to us.”
“Can’t be helped,” Bokeem said. “The cartels and Somalis are paying our employer. They want to come, then that’s their deal.”
“As long as they stay out of our way and just act as muscle when we need them,” Tank Top said, “and
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