‘Not too bad since I got back. It’s been strange.’
She nodded. The waiter arrived and they ordered their food. Neither of them spoke until he went away.
‘You know, I still don’t know what happened to you out there,’ she said, watching him across the table.
He shrugged. ‘It was all blown up by the media. A lot of false stories going around.’
She nodded. ‘So, what’s the truth? Just between us. What happened?’
He sighed and folded his hands on the table. The tip of the scar where Liam had cut him poked out from under his shirt. He pulled the cuff down to hide it. ‘It’s like the news said. I’d been hired to help out on a fishing boat, we came across some debris, went to investigate, then ran aground in the shallows. I was the only one who survived. I made it to an island and waited there until I was found by that other boat. They also ran aground on the shallows but managed to call the Coast Guard first. We got picked up and that was the end of it.’
She didn’t answer, but he remembered the look she was giving him. She didn’t believe him. Seeing that look was like a glimpse into a past and he remembered why he had run away from it.
‘I’ve heard something else. I’ve heard stories.’
He knew she was waiting for him to prompt her to go on, but he had no intention of doing so. Instead, he sipped more of his water. She went on anyway.
‘I heard there was a shark attack. I’ve heard there were other… incidents. Cannibalism.’ She lowered her head as she said it and stared at the tabletop.
He was careful to make no expression even though he screamed inside. He knew well enough the stories. His exhaustion after being rescued had made him delirious. Benton told him later he had been ranting about the shark and flesh eating. Fortunately, by the time he was officially questioned, he was back to his normal self and was able to stick to the story they had devised. Even so, those rumours didn’t go away. He didn’t think they ever would. He chose his words carefully, knowing of anyone she was most likely to see through any lie. ‘It’s just stories. People making more of it than there was. I’m here now and fine. That’s all that matters.’
‘And are you fine. Are you really?’
He opened his mouth to answer but closed it again. Their food had arrived. Amy had a chicken salad. He had steak. He waited until the waiter went away again, grateful for the extra time to compose the lie he was about to say. ‘I’m fine. Just… tired.’
‘I don’t believe you. You’re not the same.’
He regretted meeting her now. He knew it was dangerous. Everything was still too fresh. He hoped by meeting her it would rekindle something, but Amy was as much a stranger as she was before he left. ‘I can’t help what you believe. You’re entitled to your opinion,’ he said, setting his napkin across his knees.
‘The old you would have argued the point. You have changed.’ There was a touch of something in the way she said it. Not flirtation as such, not outright anyway, but a sense of testing the waters.
He declined to answer and picked up his cutlery and cut into his steak, hoping that eating would mean less conversation.
He paused and dropped his fork on the plate, causing the other diners to stare.
‘What’s wrong?’ Amy asked, aware that they were being watched. Tyler didn’t answer. He simply stared at his plate, the anxiety growing in him by the second.
The waiter appeared, a stalk of a man in a suit that looked too tight to be comfortable. ‘Is everything alright, sir?’
‘This steak. I asked for it well done. This… this is rare.’ He couldn’t take his eyes off the blood swimming beside the pink section of meat.
Too close.
Too soon.
Too many memories of a horror he was trying to forget.
‘My apologies, sir. It seems there was a mix-up in the kitchen. I’ll bring you another at once.’
He lurched to his feet, feeling dizzy, aware that all eyes were on him. ‘No, it’s alright. I can’t eat that. It’s your father.’
‘Excuse me, sir?’ the waiter said, frowning and glancing at Amy. ‘I don’t understand.’
Tyler blinked and looked at the waiter, then at Amy.
‘I’m sorry I just… I’m not ready for this yet.’ He dropped the napkin on the table and hurried for the exit, ignoring the whispers and gasps as he hurried towards the door. His mind’s eye was filled with flesh, raw flesh putrid with maggots and rot. He knew then what he had suspected all along. He may have lived. He may have survived the ordeal, but part of him a bigger part than he realised had died on that island. It was a part of him he could never get back. Tyler pushed out into the cool night air then broke into a run, weaving around people, dimly aware of Amy calling after him.
He knew he couldn’t stop.
He disappeared into the night, soon lost in the crowd.
Read on for a free sample of Megalodon: Apex Predator
Prologue
The young boy stood on deck long after everyone had gone to sleep. He liked the rough seas and cold air of the Drake Passage. Even at the young age of ten, he was fascinated by experiencing actual exotic places in real life, and his father indulged his every whim.
The moon was near-full, stars bright and twinkling, and the boy could see the ocean lit up in magical silver and blue. He grasped the frigid handrails with bare hands and tried to see as far as he could into the night.
A slight, freezing breeze picked up, and the boy burrowed into his fur-lined leather jacket. On the wind, the boy could’ve sworn he smelled something like rotten fish parts. Specifically, the kind that already had bugs eating them, lying in the heat for days. But here, it was ice-cold.
Despite his thick coat, his arms brought a chill. He didn’t like that wind and the smell it carried. This wasn’t the ocean he knew. Then again, he had come here to experience a new sea. Right where the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans met, as far south on Earth as he could get. Maybe this was part of these waters, but the boy felt in his gut that smell wasn’t supposed to be there, and it especially wasn’t supposed to be so close and strong.
He wasn’t allowed to be out of bed in the middle of the night, and suddenly, he was so frightened that because he’d disobeyed, he was now going to be punished in a most awful way. Waves kicked up around the yacht and the boy’s tender stomach heaved. He puked right onto his hands, still grasping the icy handrail, as the boat shifted high and low in the now incredibly rough seas.
The boy heard yells, but when he tried to turn and run to the voices, his hands had frozen to the metal handrail. His vomit had stuck them stiff to the bar in moments in the sub-temperature Antarctic night.
“Dada!” he cried out, but his own voice was squeaky and weak. Nobody could have heard him. He turned to the handrail again, hearing more people onboard calling out. The boy yanked as hard as he could on his hands, but they wouldn’t budge. Panic gripped him hard as that god-awful smell hit him again, but this time, it was in a blast of warm air from seemingly nowhere.
The people on deck behind the boy silenced all at once, and he saw flashlights and torches turn in his direction. He started shaking all over, slowly, ever so slowly raising his head to see what the lights had fixed on.
The warm air blew again, bringing the dead scent. He stared right into the most enormous, gaping, pointed-toothed white mouth ever imagined by a boy in his most secret nightmares. Teeth so big they were the size of his arms. His whole body would fit four times over in that mouth…
He dropped his jaw and wailed, “Dada!” He yanked on his hands and freed three fingers, not caring a lick about the blood pouring out from under his grip.