INTO THE DEPTHS (THE DEPTHS TRILOGY Book 2) Page 3

  “If you find my phone, look in my photo gallery. You’ll find some answers. Once you have, we will talk," Abby said while Beverly walked out of the room, closing the steel door behind her.

  *****

  Beverly walked down the long corridor, entering a room at the end marked Staff Only.

  Inside the room were shelves lined with boxes, one of which was marked: ‘Channing, Abigale.’ She opened the box, looking through Abby’s personal effects – a small bag, a pocketknife, a purse, and a cell phone. Beverly removed the small phone.

  Beverly turned it on, surprised it worked, flipping through images stored in Abby’s photo gallery. Most of the photos were island scenery – rain drops hitting palm trees, a monkey in a tree, waterfalls... but she stopped scrolling when she came across an image she couldn’t understand. The photo was of a shark with greyish human-like arms and legs. It posed for the camera, wearing armour and holding a spear. Next to the creature, was Abigale. Beverly covered her mouth as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing.

  The door to Abby’s room opened, and Beverly walked in holding a plate with a sandwich on it (tuna as promised). Abby accepted the sandwich, eating it quickly like a wild woman eating raw meat. Beverly fell into the seat by Abby’s bedside.

  “What the hell was that thing?” Beverly asked. Abigale finished her sandwich, looking up at the doctor who was patiently waiting for answers.

  “No, first you get me out of here... then I’ll show you what you want to know," Abby said. Beverly shook her head.

  “I can’t just get you out, Abby. Besides that could be photoshopped. It doesn’t prove anything... “ Beverly started. Abigale stopped her there.

  “You want to see more? You’ll need to find a way to get me out. If you want to know my secrets, you need to take me to the ocean. I can’t do anything here. Once I’ve shown you what you want to see, I will explain everything you need to know. The other condition I have is, you can’t tell anyone. Those are my terms,” Abby said. Beverly laughed.

  “If you think I’m going to take you on some field trip because of some fucked up photo on your phone, miss... you’re crazier than they think you are! What am I supposed to tell the board? I took you to the beach for some air? Forget it!” Beverly replied. Abby reached for the second sandwich.

  “Like I said, seeing is believing. I can tell you anything, but you won’t believe my story until you see it for yourself. We both know that photo isn’t fake, but I could fully explain it, and where I’ve been for the last five years. You need to trust me doctor, if I am to trust you," Abby said.

  Abby’s eyes seemed to look into Beverly’s – flashing a pretty aqua as she stared into the doctor’s soul. Beverly stood up from the chair and sighed.

  “I need to think about it,” Beverly said, walking to the door and opening it.

  “Trust me, doctor... I’m not crazy," Abby said. Beverly’s face seemed fearful and cautious. This patient was getting to her, not because she was getting on her nerves. Not because she thought she was crazy. Beverly was indeed more terrified that this patient wasn’t crazy at all. She stepped out of the room, once again closing the door behind her.

  Chapter Five: The Drunken Sailor

  A burly guy with a beard named Hog painted a model pirate ship in a beachside house in California as the phone rang over and over. He sighed, reaching for it, and sounding quite irritated.

  “Yes? Fuck! Hello?” he said into the receiver, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette. He was an American fisherman sitting in a room full of junk; mostly old maps, books, and fishing supplies – a few sets of great white shark jaws hanging on the wall. He drank from a bottle of Jack Daniels as he listened to the voice on the phone, the American voice of John Cushing.

  “Yes, hello I’m trying to reach Bo Landers," the voice stated, while Hog lit a smoke, shoving it into his mouth and lighting it.

  “Who is this?” Hog asked, and the voice on the other end cleared his throat.

  “Oh, I’m John Cushing, I’m a writer. I believe he may know a colleague of mine, Abigale Channing?” the voice went on to say. Hog sighed.

  “Okay, dude, just wait alright? I’ll see if he’s out ‘back," Hog said. He got up from his chair and walked across the room, stepping out onto the porch, where a man with a thick sandy beard and a mop of hair was sleeping in a hammock. Hog nudged him and Bo Landers opened his eyes as Hog passed him the phone.

  Bo belched loudly, and he was coughing his guts up, spitting onto the sand of the beach beyond the porch. Time hadn’t been kind to the man. Once a thin, muscular, and handsome athletic surfer from Texas who surfed the beaches of California, a legendary shark hunter with a top rated tv series called, ‘Shark Hunters International;’ he had become a beer gutted drunk who had left that life presumably far behind him. He sat up in the hammock, wearing a Hawaiian shirt that was unbuttoned revealing his drunken girth.

  “Landers!” he exclaimed. John’s voice spoke up.

  “Mr Landers? I’m John Cushing. I’m calling from Melbourne, Australia. I can’t say too much until we meet, but a mutual friend is in trouble and needs our help," John said. Bo listened as he opened a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  “You sure you got the right guy, son? I ain’t got too many friends," Bo said, taking a swig of his Jack. The voice on the other end sighed.

  “Abigale Channing," John’s voice said - and Bo stopped drinking. He stared into space for a long moment, closing his eyes as if he were suddenly swept away and had become lost in a sea of thought.

  “Just tell me where you wanna meet. Give me two days,” Bo said in a Texan accent. He dropped his phone on the hammock, and rubbed his eyes.

  Hog stood there looking at him, yet neither of the men spoke for a while.

  “Who was that guy?” Hog asked. Bo shrugged.

  “I dunno, but I gotta go,” Bo replied.

  “It’s that girl, isn’t it? The one you told me about from that island?” Hog asked. Bo nodded.

  “Well you be careful. Weather bureau’s been saying all sorts of wild weather’s on the way. It’s fucking crazy all over! You look like shit too, brother!” Hog said. Bo nodded.

  “I still gotta go. Get my bag ready, okay?” Bo asked. Hog nodded. Whether Hog liked it or not, when the boss said he had to go somewhere, it also meant no questions asked.

  Bo got his bag together, half watching the news. A bystander was talking to a journalist about the wild weather.

  “We had our chance. Now, the failure to reduce carbon emissions, the pollution and greenhouse gasses, have caused massive ecological damage that we can’t undo! I promise you, in the next year... maybe two, we could be taking front row seats to a cataclysmic event that could change the world as we know it forever. Thousands of deaths! Mass hysteria! The infrastructure of our buildings were designed for a stable planet. Our planet is no longer stable!” The man said seeming very disturbed as he held up notes and seismic charts. The American reporter held up a hand to silence him.

  “I’m sorry, it sounds like you are talking about the apocalypse... are you saying the world will end?” the reporter asked. The man nodded.

  “And unlike the book of Revelations, it won’t be by God’s hands. It will be by our own. The evidence is very clear. If we don’t do something soon, something big is going to happen. The polar ice gaps are melting. There have been massive platonic shifts all over the world, causing earthquakes and tsunamis unlike anything we have recorded in previous history. This is our only warning. These storms, floods, and earthquakes are just a sign of a bigger global event that’s coming... and I swear to you, this will be our final curtain,” the man replied.

  Hog nudged Bo, and he jumped.

  “Hahaha! Hey dude! Remember when I left my weed in the couch? I totes forgot about it an’ I just found it brother! Wanna get lit before you gotsa go-go?” Hog asked, as Bo wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Yeah... No - I need to go," Bo replied, grabbing his bag, and heading for the door.
<
br />   *****

  John Cushing had two television screens on as he also made notes on his laptop. He had learned more about Hans Strucker in the last twenty-four hours than Abigale had learned in five years. The man was a scientist and shark expert, possibly driven slightly mad by the loss of his wife and daughter – but John was also wondering if he was also a genius, possibly years ahead of his time.

  There had been wild weather reports on Seven News all day. Flood warnings across Melbourne were not uncommon, but the floods were rarely as bad as predicted. John only half paid attention, watching the other screen which showed Hans Strucker giving a radical lecture on global warming; and steps we as a world should take to prepare for it.

  “We know what causes global warming, we know what it is doing to our planet, yet we do nothing but talk. Sure, we protest and rally... but we are not getting the message across. Imagine if you will, however... that we were prepared for a massive global threat. Imagine, if we as humans could somehow evolve to cope with not only climate change, but if nessecary ocean living as well. What if we could live and breathe beneath the sea? It begs all kinds of questions, does it not? Sharks outlived the dinosaurs after the dinosaurs were wiped out. An extinction level event! What if we too could survive? Just by adapting ourselves to genetics, thus giving us a boost up the evolutionary ladder?” Strucker asked an audience, that was completely silent.

  John hit the ‘pause’ button on the VCR, staring at the screen, and running his hand over his bearded chin. Strucker hadn’t just imagined his theory – he had realised it. Hans Strucker had been doing much more than research on sharks, he had been meticulously calculating our odds of survival in a devastating end game scenario. He had been creating a new breed of human, spliced with marine life in an attempt to genetically engineer mutant hybrids that would survive a global disaster. Hans Strucker believed the end was coming so wholeheartedly, that he had broken laws to genetically engineer human-marine hybrids that would evolve and eventually replace the human race.

  John had put most of it together by looking over Strucker's research – both disturbing and ingenious as it was; but to have seen the creatures himself, the realization of Strucker’s vision was both remarkable and downright terrifying.

  John struggled to process all of this. If Strucker were right, humanity would simply be wiped out and the earth would be populated by these highly evolved creatures. It didn’t matter how many he created originally, there would likely be more. The next race of beings set to dominate the planet had already been unleashed, although despite Strucker’s intentions... these creatures were for the most part savage, undoubtedly because they did not fully understand the very nature of their creation.

  In the next twenty-four hours, Bo would arrive in Melbourne, and John hoped the two of them could learn even more. That being said - the weather reports were troubling and John couldn’t help but wonder... was this it? Was this a sign that the end was coming?

  Chapter Six: A Texan in Melbourne

  Bo Landers walked out of Flinders Street Station in the direction toward Elizabeth Street. His hair was shoulder-length and tied back in a sandy blonde ponytail. His face sported a thick beard, and his jeans and Hawaiian shirt made him look a little touristy, but no one seemed to care. His aviator sunglasses shielded the rays of sunlight streaming down on his face as he walked across the street, stepping onto the right side of Elizabeth Street. Shit he thought, Abby lived here?

  He stepped into Starbucks, ordering a frappuccino and looked around. He saw a Starbucks bear and picked it up, looking at it. He put it back on the shelf and scratched his chin, seeing a drinking cup with a lid, Starbucks written across it. The flask was also adorned with coloured mermaids. Bo picked it up and placed it on the counter.

  “How much is this?” Bo asked . The woman whose tag read ‘Jen’ picked it up.

  “Twenty-one ninety-five," she said. Bo nodded, passing her some Australian cash, which he noted earlier was much prettier than American currency. Bo picked up the frappe and cup and nodded, walking out of the Starbucks, continuing down Elizabeth Street moving away from Flinders Street Station.

  The streets were buzzing with people walking mostly to the left of the path, so Bo attempted the adjustment. He passed a Coles supermarket and an old woman sitting out the front. She looked up at him smiling.

  “Can ya spare some change?” she asked. Bo fished some coins out of the duffle bag he was wearing. He also had his backpack on his back. He dropped some change into a cup in front of her.

  “Thanks mate," she said, and he nodded, continuing his walk along the street. He took out his phone and dialled John’s number. After a moment, John answered.

  “Yes?” John’s voice said.

  “Yeah, It’s Landers. Where are ya? I just passed Coles on Elizabeth,” Bo said, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Oh great. You wanna keep walking. The next street is Little Collins, turn right into there and I’ll meet you " John replied.

  Bo turned right into Little Collins Street, lighting a cigarette and standing outside a tall building. John Cushing walked up to him, extending his hand, which Bo shook.

  “Nice to meet another American around here. I’m John Cushing. I’m a big fan of your work,” John said. Bo took off his sunglasses, politely nodding.

  “Well I appreciate that, Mr Cushing. So is this you?” he asked, motioning towards the tall building, and John nodded.

  “Of course, come up. You must be exhausted!” John said, leading Bo into the building.

  John stepped into his apartment with Bo following closely behind him. Bo placed his bags on a nearby chair, looking around at the newspaper clippings, maps and drawings thumb-tacked to the walls. He removed his sunglasses, looking at the sketches of the shark-creatures and the island he had fought to drive out of his memory for the last five years.

  “Holy shit," Bo said, and John nodded.

  “Yeah... I know. I’ve been pretty busy. I’ve spent months gathering the information I could... and it was hard to find. I... would you like a drink?” John asked, and Bo nodded.

  “You got any Jack’?” Bo asked. John moved to the kitchen in what was a small but spotless room considering the clutter around the rest of the apartment. He opened a bar style cupboard and removed a Jack Daniels, passing it to Bo, who opened the bottle, taking a long swig.

  “Please, take a seat. We have a great deal to discuss... unless of course you would rather sleep first? I have a spare room out back?” John offered, but Bo shook his head, wiping bourbon off his mouth.

  “I slept plenty on the plane. What is all this?” Bo asked, sitting in a leather chair. John sat in a leather chair opposite him.

  “The island. It was so much more than you or Abby knew... what do you remember?” John asked. Bo tried to relax.

  “Nothing good," he replied, sighing deeply. John nodded in understanding. Bo pressed on.

  “Bad things happened there. This... shark researcher was doing usual research... at least that was what we thought. Really, he was experimenting on humans. He was splicing their DNA with... sharks, and other marine creatures. I always knew something was off with him. I had no idea how bad it was until I saw it with my own eyes,” Bo said, having another drink.

  “Did he ever say why?” John asked. Bo shrugged.

  “The guy was a lunatic, John. He was locking people up and messing with them and when they woke up... they were in these coffins. He said he wanted to improve humanity or some shit. It was a long time ago man. Why are you interested? Where is Abby?” Bo asked.

  “She’s in Dwyer Heights. It’s a mental institution in South Melbourne by the bay, a tram ride from here,” John said. Bo’s face fell into his hands.

  “Fuck,” Bo said, and John nodded.

  “There’s more, Bo. I need you to listen. Hans Strucker did what he did to get back at you for what happened to his daughter, I know that. But these things he created? He knew something was coming, man! He wanted to create a race that w
ould survive what was coming,” John said. Bo looked up at him shaking his head.

  “Hans Strucker was a nutcase, John! He wasn’t a prophet or a messiah... he had a fucking screw loose, end of story!” Bo said. John shook his head.

  “Listen to me. Fine, maybe he was a little out there and trying to kill you... Yeah that was crazy! But the island? These creatures? They were his legacy. He wanted to create a new world after everything went to ruin,” John said. Bo looked at the man, partially in anger, and partially curious.

  “What are you talking about?” Bo asked. John flipped on the television which was buzzing with news headlines about wild weather and earthquakes.

  “Whatever it is, I think it’s happening right now,” John said. Bo stared at the television. A reporter was speaking in front of images of earthquakes around the world.

  “...The devastation in Chile is feared to only be the beginning as more earthquakes and wild storms are reported throughout the last twenty-four hours, all around the world,” the newscaster said. This was replaced by an image of the Prime Minister of Australia, a grey-haired, tired looking man, who was delivering a speech.

  “This is an unprecedented and historical event that affects the country and indeed every country in the world. These violent tremors are to be taken very seriously. If people can leave the major cities, I ask that you do so in an orderly fashion. Panic will not solve anything. We must as a country – as a world - endeavour to protect ourselves, our families, and our loved ones. Take with you only what you need to survive and please take into the consideration of other people wherever possible. May God travel with us and protect us all,” he said, and then the scene changed back to the news reporter. She looked frazzled, and terrified, still trying to read the news.

  “A speech from the Prime Minister, that has caused chaos online, and fear amongst the citizens of Australia... ” the reporter’s voice trailed off. Bo turned to John.