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  His heart raced furiously. He looked out into the rough sea, turning his head to watch as a couple of his crewmen brought up another of the creatures amid excited yells. It snipped through the weave and scurried away with a splash as Ralph popped off a few more useless shots.

  He turned to Dave who was at the helm, fighting the wheel. “What the fuck are these things?” Kim yelled.

  “I don’t know,” Dave said through gritted teeth. He gestured out to the water. “It looks like a big school of them heading southwest. Must be what’s driving the fish crazy!”

  Dave shrugged and scratched his bushy head. The wind whipped at his heavy coat, rippling it like the waves of the sea. “They must be following this current. Never seen anything like it.”

  Kim looked out into the gray ocean. The seagulls were circling in wide, erratic circles, cawing frantically. Kim jerked a thumb toward the excited gulls. “Birds are acting real strange.”

  “Everything is!” Dave said. He had both hands on the wheel, his knuckles growing white as he struggled to keep the ship on course. “Everything in this part of the sea seems to be trying to get away from something.”

  Kim felt the boat lurch violently. He nearly lost his balance as he grabbed at the wooden railing. He righted himself; his heart still lodged in his throat. Jesus, this storm is getting worse.

  Another length of net was brought up with three of the creatures hanging on by their insect-like legs. He studied the animals intently as he gripped the railing. He had never heard or read of any crab or lobster reaching the size of the things in the nets. Logic dictated that they probably dwelled on the bottom of the ocean and rarely came to the surface. If that was so, why were they coming up now?

  He shook his head as the cawing of the gulls gnawed at the base of his skull. The sky was darkening rapidly. The wind was blowing stronger, the swells rising higher. The mass of dark storm clouds had grown larger and more sinister, painting the sky a dark black. The Lucky Mariner bounced off a swell, nearly knocking Kim off his feet. Some of the crew members weren’t so lucky; a few of the men were thrown to the deck. Heart racing, Kim gripped the railing and made his way carefully to the ladder that led to the lower deck. He climbed down carefully and joined Ralph Hodgson.

  He nudged Ralph’s shoulder. “Get Jeff out of that skiff and get those nets up!”

  “We pulling in?” Ralph asked sharply. He had nearly ten years of crew experience on commercial fishing vessels and the motions of the sea were disturbing him too.

  “You bet your mother’s ass we are.” Kim leaned over and yelled to the upper deck where Dave was fighting the wheel with all his strength. “Hey, Dave! We’re bringing up the nets and headin’ in!”

  Dave acknowledged the order with a wave and steered the boat into the swell to aid in retrieving the

  large nets. Kim barked the order to those on deck and then turned to steal another glance at the storm before all hell broke loose.

  A commotion off toward the skiff caught his attention. The man they’d sent out to drag the net—an experienced seaman named Jeff Bowers—was yelling and slapping at the water with his oars. His screams washed toward them, high pitched, loud and clear.

  “What the fuck?” Kim hissed, stepping toward the railing. He took the pipe out of his mouth and put it in his jacket pocket. His heart beat wildly. He could barely make out roiling, undulating movement below the tiny skiff as Jeff beat at the water with the oars.

  The tiny skiff was listing to one side pretty badly as the net grew taut. One good wave and the small boat would capsize. Jeff was trying to cut loose the net, but the rough sea made it impossible. The rough thrashing of the boat made it appear that the net was being pulled out of Jeff’s hands.

  Suddenly the net attached to the skiff was yanked below and the tiny boat flipped over, spilling Jeff Bowers into the freezing ocean.

  The skiff floated in the water half submerged, and finally sunk. Jeff was nowhere in sight.

  It all went down so fast that Kim couldn’t believe what he saw. The crew watched in stunned terror, finally gasping exclamations of shock. Kim felt the tension among his crew as Jeff’s dark form broke the surface briefly.

  Ralph pointed and yelled. “Man overboard!”

  The heavy dark clouds finally split open and spilled their contents on the hapless crew. The rain added to the mounting confusion as the men clamored to save their lost mate.

  Jeff Bowers treaded water and gasped for air as he bobbed in the ocean. A moment later he was yanked under. For good.

  As the crew scrambled to save Jeff, Ralph looked at Kim. His eyes were wide and scared. It looked like he was about to scream when a heavy shock hit the bottom of the boat.

  It threw Kim against the wall of the cabin. The shock tossed most of the men to the deck. They scrambled to their feet, resuming rescue duties. Kim’s heart raced frantically. It was as if they’d hit bottom, but Kim knew that was impossible...not this far out!

  Something had taken Jeff Bowers down and the ocean was becoming increasingly dangerous, more alien than he had ever seen it. He pushed the thoughts from his mind. If he didn’t act quickly, his men were going to die out here.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Kim screamed. There was no sense in trying to rescue Jeff Bowers now. He was as good as dead. Kim moved across the deck and the shock wave hit again, louder and stronger, shaking the vessel. Kim stumbled, but managed to remain on his feet. It felt like the bottom of the boat was being torn apart.

  Kim grabbed Ralph by the shoulders and spun him around. “You! Come with me!”

  They turned and were about to climb up to the wheel when Danny appeared from below deck. His expression was grave. “Somethin’s ripping the hell out of the hull.”

  Kim felt his stomach drop into his bowels. “Something...?”

  “I don’t know what,” Danny said. His voice trembled. His eyes looked like white marbles set on his black face. The intensity of Danny’s fear sparked a new tremor of terror in Kim. He had never seen Danny scared of anything before. Seeing him genuinely frightened provided the reality check he needed.

  “What’s going on down there?” Kim shouted over the loud thunderclap. Danny motioned for Kim to follow and turned back toward the door.

  Suddenly the boat lurched from some unseen impact.

  The crewmen fell to the deck, trying to hold on for dear life. Kim fell and hit his face on the deck. The sharp pain of his nose breaking exploded in his mind, fueling his adrenaline. He scrambled to his feet quickly and saw that most of his crew was suffering the same fate; one man had smacked his head against the deck, while another lost his grip on the ladder and fell to the lower deck. Another man had tumbled through a window to the sound of shattering glass and garbled screams of pain. Kim almost laughed at the sight but stopped himself before he launched into a volley of giggles—the scene looked almost too comical, like out of a cartoon.

  The sounds of snapping wood amid the yells of his men brought him back to reality yet again. Something was tearing the boat out from under them. He looked through the open cabin doorway and fear gripped his heart like a vice. An entire plank was missing from the side of the ship and the sea was invading the warm interior, flooding the lower deck. Holy Jesus, fucking Christ!

  Kim moved forward and another lurch toppled him back onto the deck. His head thunked the wall. Stars blossomed in his field of vision. The deck listed at a forty-five degree angle. Behind him Danny and Ralph were cursing and scrambling to their feet.

  Danny’s scalp had been laid open during one of his falls, bathing his face and the front of his shirt with dark blood. Ralph was heaving with exertion; he hadn’t suffered any physical wounds yet. Kim struggled to his feet and gripped the railing, barely feeling the blood from his broken nose. Ralph hoisted himself up and fell on his face. Danny rose on wobbly legs and helped Ralph up. Ralph appeared visibly dazed. He shook his head and spat out a broken tooth, his first battle wound. Danny and Ralph gripped the railing as they
regained their composure. They had to get the fuck out of here, and they had to do it now!

  Kim suddenly noticed the tension on the gill nets. There was a sharp tug and the boat lurched again. Kim weathered the sudden movement and remained standing. Danny and Ralph almost went down again but held on, cursing. Something was pulling on the nets. The same thing that had pulled Jeff Bowers to oblivion.

  Kim pulled the razor-sharp scaling knife from his belt and lunged toward the nets. “Cut the goddamned nets!” He yelled to the crew members around him. “Cut the nets! Cut the nets!” He scrambled to the railing, which was nearly under water. His head throbbed with pain. He began to hack at the line holding the main net.

  Ralph brought out his own knife and hacked at the line. Danny joined them and a moment later a handful of the other crew members were scrambling to sever the lines from various points of the vessel.

  Behind them they could hear Dave cursing as he throttled the engine and tried to maneuver the vessel toward shore. A rattled whine was emanating from the engine and Dave yelled “Fuck!” and slammed his fists down on the dash as the boat shuddered with exertion. A cloud of black, oily smoke rose from the engine as the boat moved slowly. It felt and sounded like the engine was dying. Kim cursed himself as he realized what was happening; the engine was flooding. Goddamn!

  A moment later the mechanisms locked up and the whole thing shut down. The electrical system died, plunging the ship into darkness.

  Kim’s heart raced madly. The crewmen were yelling to abandon ship. Kim turned to Danny. “Get the life raft!”

  Danny scrambled to the cabin as another wave crashed over the deck, bringing the sting of icy salt water.

  Kim hacked at the nets, severing another line, preserving their lives for one more precious second. He huffed past Ralph and helped him sever his line. The wind picked up, howling in his ears as the ship tilted even more, slipping farther into the ocean. The howling wind and the shouts of the crew obliterated the sounds of the hull being torn open, flooding the ship further. The icy water flooded up to his knees. He was hardly aware of it. He was so involved in getting the nets cut, getting his men on the life raft and off the ship that he didn’t even hear the rising screams of his men. Screams that rose suddenly and were cut off before they had the chance to register in his brain.

  Kim’s knife slashed through the last line. He heaved a deep breath and turned to Ralph, who was no longer there. Kim blinked and caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned.

  The trident punched through his chest so quick that he didn’t even see it coming. The force of the blow pushed him back into the water. His consciousness ebbed as he felt himself rise to the surface of the water. Kim tried to get up, but found that he was already in motion. He was moving through the water, being dragged down into the murky depths. He caught just a fleeting glimpse of the Lucky Mariner as it went down in the storm, and then everything went black and Kim Isaac knew no more.

  Chapter One

  October 21

  Greater Northern Maine was overcast and cold as Rick Sychek maneuvered his rusty ’73 baby-blue Plymouth Satellite through the snake-like twists and curves of Highway 1.

  The patchy drizzle that had been dogging his path off and on during the twelve-hour drive suddenly became a steady rain. Rick turned his windshield wipers on again for the forty-seventh time, this time keeping them on. The rubber blades lurched into rhythm, brushing the water off the plate glass much slower than Mother Nature was dropping her load.

  The radio was becoming increasingly fuzzy with static as he drove farther into Boonesville. Figures. Rick rummaged around inside a large, green shoebox sitting shotgun. It was crammed with compact discs. Thank God for modern technology when primitive civilization looms.

  Keeping one eye half glued to the wet road, he was able to procure the disc that his soul screamed for. He snapped the jewel box open with practiced dexterity, honed by years of navigating through the streets of his hometown of Philadelphia with one hand while performing any number of tasks with the other. Rick was positive that he was the expert of eating, shaving, donning a necktie, and changing CDs while navigating dangerous roadwork at eighty miles per hour. It beat being late for everything.

  He slipped the disc into the dash-mounted compact disc system his agent had bought him last Christmas. A moment later the rust began to vibrate with the opening bars of Alice Cooper’s Billion Dollar Babies, one of his ten favorite albums.

  He turned up the volume and resumed driving with two hands on the steering wheel. He bobbed his head in time with the music. He loved CDs. The dash mounted sound job, which was presently engaged in blowing out the Plymouth’s tiny door mounted speakers, came courtesy of his agent commemorating the release of his latest horror novel, Baron Semedi.

  He passed a sign on his left. Phillipsport…20 Miles. Still a ways to go.

  The tall, dark silhouettes of pine trees whooshed by in a wet myriad of rain and sleet as the car maneuvered down the road. This trip up north was going to give him the added boost he knew he needed. He felt good about it. He’d been through a lot lately since his writing career had taken an unexpected turn toward near instant success.

  The unexpected runaway sales of Baron Semedi had put Rick in a weird situation. When he wrote the thing it was just one of the mainstream horror novels he had written as part of a four book contract with Diamond Books. There was nothing that differentiated this one from the others. It was another cheesy horror novel featuring a voodoo cult that decapitated women and offered children up for sacrificing, after which they would cannibalize the tots’ bodies. Pulp reading designed to be consumed in a single sitting and quickly forgotten by the next day. No biggie. Peter Straub, he wasn’t.

  He was simply one of the dozens of writers who had a small yet faithful following mainly consisting of bored housewives who picked up his books at the local supermarket check-out stands, as well as the rabid horror fans that showed up at autograph parties with boxes of books to be signed. Like others of his brethren, he’d been undersold and underrated, providing the backbone of the paperback houses that put out his work. His early novels hadn’t brought in Fort Knox, but they gave him decent royalty checks that enabled him to live semi-comfortably. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  As Rick drove he couldn’t help but think about the events over the last few years that led to his current decision. His first novel Shadowbeast had been a simple connect-the-dots demon-on-the-loose story. Its initial sale prompted Diamond to sign him up to a four-book deal. The advance wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exactly a mid-six figure sum either. He’d been working at Sharp Insurance Company for eight years, five of that spent in the company’s warehouse where he knew he would be doomed to spend the rest of his life if he didn’t do a quick one-eighty and take control of his future. The first novel was written over nine months, during weeknights and weekends. When it sold he was able to quit his job for good. Sayonara nine to five world, hello career move.

  Rick settled comfortably into writing for a living. Knowing he’d have to produce a novel once a year to meet the deadlines and the bills, he settled into a comfortable writing schedule. He worked from ten at night till six in the morning. Rose around noon, piddled around the house and did chores. Sometimes he wrote short stories, which he sent off to magazines. Weekends were devoted to the same social life he held before he became self-employed. His sex life improved somewhat and telling women he wrote novels sometimes impressed them. It still wasn’t as impressive as, say, being a rock star, but it did the trick.

  Rick grinned at the memory as he rounded a curve in the road. His second published novel, Night of the Devil, was loosely based on the legend of a beastie dubbed the Jersey Devil. The lurid tale had the monster hack its way through three hundred pages and scores of half-naked teenagers. The sales doubled that of his debut and had even garnered a bullshit award from some know-nothing writer’s committee. The third book followed later that year, a vampire novel title
d Night.

  Then Baron was released to the collective masses. Why this book racked up over two hundred thousand sold copies in six months was beyond him. While the book was better written than the first few outings, the story was still another booga-booga piece of exploitative masturbation. The cover art was the most retarded muck-up in publishing history; it was a painting featuring the skeletal protagonist choking a chicken while a near-naked girl was shown draped over an altar in the foreground. The cover painting had nothing to do with the story.

  Thinking about that horrible cover made Rick laugh aloud. As best as Rick was able to understand, the fire started when a writer close to the popularity and influence of Stephen King had read the galleys one night on the porcelain reading chair. He’d given it a great cover blurb, which Diamond maxed out in all their promotional shticks. The senior editor quickly made it that month’s lead title and ordered an exhaustive marketing campaign behind the book. The month the novel hit an interview appeared in a horror magazine with the writer who blurbed it, essentially saying that he thought Baron Semedei was the greatest thing since canned beer. Everything that happened since then had been a whirlwind. The success of Baron prompted Diamond to reissue his previous three releases, and he was promptly signed to a two book hardcover deal with a big house with Diamond to reissue in paperback. The Big Time was coming.

  And I thought I was just going to be another hack, Rick thought as he rounded a sharp curve in the road. When Cynthia called him with the news that the hardcover deal had gone down and the combined advances, including paperback rights, were in the mid-six-figure range, Rick had danced around in his underwear. Tribal celebration time. “I’ll never be hungry again,” he chanted.

  Rick frowned as he drove. The emergence of bigger dollars in his contracts had changed lots of things. Writer’s Block had set in almost immediately after the deal was signed, and he panicked. How was he going to get out of Writer’s Block, and deliver the next two books in his contract? What kind of a book was he going to write as his hardcover debut?