What Lurks Beneath

by Ryan Lockwood

Genres: Horror; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Suspense

Synopsis

From the acclaimed author of Below comes a new breed of terror that rises from the depths of the ocean. To hunt. To devour. To kill. The first attack occurrs in the underwater caverns of the Bahamas. Two professional divers exploring the unknown. A monstrous flesh-ripping predator they never see coming. Now the attacks are coming closer and closer to shore. A sun-soaked playground for sea-loving tourists. A human feasting ground for whatever lurks beneath. Now, in a desperate race against time, Eric Watson, an expert on remote control underwater vehicles, and marine biologist Valerie Martell, must identify a savage new species of killer—and piece together one of nature’s most horrific mysteries. But the most terrifying discovery of all waits for Val and her team at the bottom of the sea. A discovery too shocking, to comprehend. Because up till now, this creature existed only in mankind’s darkest nightmares. Not anymore.

Release date: May 26, 2015

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 385

Sample

It waited for them.

Concealed within the submarine cavern, its motionless body was loosely compressed against the wall of a large chamber. Here in the darkness, far from where it had entered in the open sea, it could sense but not see that the surface beneath it was smooth. Porous rock, worn down over thousands of years by others of its kind.

Every few minutes, it drew vast volumes of seawater into its massive body, causing the flesh to expand like an oversized bellows, before contracting to expel the spent fluid into the cavern.

It had spent the day resting, away from the sunlight and safe from any threat. Having attained its great size, it was no longer at risk of being attacked by virtually any marine predator, but its instincts had always ensured it remained safely tucked away from marauding hunters during the daytime. It was drawn to confined spaces. To shadows and darkness. Since its birth, it had spent most of its life on or near the ocean floor, concealed from predators and prey, and each dawn had pulled its soft body into a crack or crevice to protect itself and its exposed parts. In its lair now, deep under the landmass above and far from the open ocean, the water remained clean and saline, though low in oxygen. Here it would remain until dark. When it would emerge to hunt.

Half-asleep, the organism had first been roused when it felt something disturb the dark water near its eyes. With no light at all, it merely sensed the small, blind fish swimming past, oblivious to the presence of a being so large it was almost part of the cavern itself. Uninterested, it again began drifting into sleep.

It had not fed well on previous nights. An opportunistic feeder, it would consume virtually anything it could capture if, unlike the blind fish, the prey was large enough to be worth expending energy on. Yet it had been unsuccessful at ingesting the calories needed to fuel its tons of flesh. By resting in this environment, its metabolism reduced to a state of near hibernation, it could reserve its energy until it preyed again.

But then the still water in the chamber had moved.

The tide. The gentle flow of water had at first pushed lightly against the organism’s skin, almost imperceptibly, slowly building into a light current as it passed through the cavern. Currents from above crept along its body and deeper down the passage, toward the distant opening from which it had entered hours ago. As the tidal fluctuation increased, more water began to push against it. And through the receptors in its flesh, it had tasted something. Something vaguely familiar.

Something edible.

Its eyes slowly opened in the blackness.

From the passage above drifted a dilute soup of organic matter, and within it trace amounts of something else. In its complex brain it quickly determined that mixed into the volume of water were molecules of some bodily fluid, recently emitted by a living thing. No, things. Things it had consumed before.

Something was coming toward it. Yet it did not react. It was a nocturnal being, and did not generally feed in the daytime. Nor did it ever seek prey while resting in a lair. It would retain its energy.

From far away, a weak pulse of sound bounced along the limestone walls of the underwater cavern and into its body. It drew in another massive quantity of seawater and spewed it back out into the broad cavern in a powerful rush, causing a cloud of sediment to swirl in the darkness around it. Its mind processed the conflicting instincts that suddenly flashed through its multi-hubbed brain:

Retreat. Attack. Hide. Feed. Wait.

Wait.

It settled its bulk back against the cavern wall. There was no need to reveal itself. They were coming toward it. It would wait.

He was still bleeding.

John Breck examined the small cut on the lighter skin of his palm. Although it was difficult to see the wound underwater, it didn’t hurt badly, and wasn’t very deep. But the nagging pain continued to distract him, and a small amount of bright red blood continued to seep out of the gash.

He clenched his fist. Perhaps he should have tried to address the wound before going under.

Breck had cut himself with his own knife just before the dive. It had slipped in his grasp as he had tried to pry open the stubborn latch on one of his equipment boxes, which they had stacked near the scrubby vegetation surrounding the entry hole. But he had quickly dismissed the cut as Pelletier stood by in full dive gear at the edge of the flooded cavern, ready to enter the water.

But now his hand was bothering him.

Breck unclenched his fist and refocused his attention on the void below him. He adjusted the strap on the expensive camera housing trailing behind his narrow frame as he loudly exhaled another lungful of bubbles, continuing a measured descent into the cylindrical shaft of warm water. The midday brightness beaming down from above had gradually receded as he and the other diver sank down the middle of the great, water-filled maw. The dim water offered none of the familiar sounds common to the depths of the open ocean: no hum of distant motors, none of the clicks and crackles created by the activities of countless marine organisms. Only the intermittent clouds of bubbles he exhaled, the hiss of compressed air released through the regulator as he inhaled, made any noise. Otherwise, here in the essentially landlocked inland pool there was only an exhilarating silence.

When observed from above, many of these flooded holes appeared simply as deep freshwater ponds. But Breck, a professional cave diver and amateur marine geologist, knew from experience that there was much more to the big island’s blue holes than the murkier layers at the top, where the waters were steeped in a tea of organic matter.

That layer of water was merely a disguise.

Deeper down, in passageways that sometimes ran for miles, a cavern like this often revealed spectacular geology and forms of life much stranger than those few concealed in the rock walls cradling the upper pool. The odd creatures dwelling much deeper, in more saline caverns, were remarkable—life-forms so alien that they existed nowhere else on earth.

Each time Breck entered one of these cavernous underwater holes, he felt as though he were entering the murky portal to another universe. Which wasn’t really that far off the mark. In the few years that the water-filled blue holes on this island had been more thoroughly explored, already researchers had discovered that they contained a number of unusual new species, and geological formations normally found only in terrestrial cave systems.

He looked over at Arlo Pelletier, whose longish black hair waved in the water around his dive mask as they descended. Breck would have preferred to have Mack with him for this job, but Mack didn’t have the biological background Pelletier did. And Mack wasn’t diving anymore.

At least the portly Pelletier knew his stuff. While Breck’s role was to map and gather images of the geology of the underwater caverns, the French biologist had been assigned to document the undiscovered life-forms residing within them—life-forms that tended to be small, eyeless, and alien-looking. Because of the great depths to which many of the technical caverns extended, and the extended bottom time required to venture into them, few in the world were qualified to be here. Both men had been hired for their expertise at cave diving, using mixed gases that prevented unsafe levels of nitrogen in the blood. Even with all the proper equipment, their brief excursions offered merely a glimpse of the underwater caverns and the life within them, to give humanity a better idea of what existed beneath the holes dotting the island’s surface. It would take decades and better technology to fully explore the geological wonders.

Almost a hundred feet down now, the men had already passed the toxic layer of water Pelletier referred to as l’omelette—because it had the discernible taste and smell of rotten eggs. Below that layer, they had then passed through a broader stratum of semi-saline water that mixed with freshwater above, and were now entering the dense, pure seawater that reached through dark tunnels out to the deep ocean.

Here, the visibility was much better than above—the clarity of bottled vodka. Breck could make out a large cone of rocky debris piled along the near vertical north wall of the hole. The rubble had accumulated below the mouth of the hole over thousands of years, the result of the cave roof collapsing gradually over time to form the hole. Nearing a ledge near the top of the rubble mound, Breck noticed several distinct objects littering the feature .

Bones.

He finned over to the wall of the hole and there, staring back at him from where it was perched on the rubble, was a human skull, half buried in silt. It was misshapen in such a way that the forehead clearly sloped backwards from the face. Breck reached for his camera, raised it to his mask and snapped several images. Each was accompanied by a bright flash.

He nodded at Pelletier, waiting beside him, and they continued their descent.

A hundred and twenty feet down, near the base of the hole, they finally located the dark opening to the third and final passage. It was the last of the three main tunnels, all branching off the central shaft of the hole, all previously undocumented. This one led off to the east. They probably wouldn’t reach the end today, but would map it as far back as they could.

They swam toward the narrow opening and came to rest on a ledge of rock beside it. Breck finally clicked on one of his dive lights—they each carried three as one of many redundancy measures—and directed it into the darkness. He knew from experience that the tunnel’s unassuming entry likely belied an extensive network of caverns linking to large chambers beyond. He carefully tied off a nylon line from his largest safety reel to a large rock on the cavern wall outside the passage. The line would likely be their only means of finding their way back to safety on their return. Pelletier nodded at him, and the men followed their dive lights into the jagged opening. Inside, Breck could make out about twenty feet of the passage before it turned abruptly downward.

As an unashamed Trekkie, not for the first time he thought of the Star Trek tagline. Here, in this cave, no man had gone before. He smiled. All the jock assholes who had picked on him as a skinny, awkward black kid in high school thirty years ago would never experience anything like this. They didn’t have the balls.

Breck looked at his hand, which was throbbing some now. At least it looked like the bleeding had stopped. He lifted off the rock wall, Pelletier behind him. The safety line began to spool out as he kicked into the darkness.

The disturbance was close now.

Alert, the enormous organism’s brain processed the unfamiliar sounds of activity—muffled thumps and scrapes produced by the approach of something solid moving through the dark caverns, sending vibrations into a saclike organ in its body.

It had never before encountered any animals of significant size in this refuge; only the smaller creatures that perpetually dwelled within it. Nothing large enough to be of concern, as either predator or prey, ever entered these submarine caverns. Only the great beast itself was able to manipulate its nebulous bulk into almost any shape to allow passage through narrow tunnels.

But something was coming now.

It tested the water again. The taste was vaguely familiar. This was not its typical prey. But it was ravenous.

Its eyes began to detect movement. A dim light was moving erratically in an opening at the far end of the cavern. It again considered a retreat back toward the ocean, but its instincts stopped it. No potential threat existed in its refuge. In the daytime, it was safer here than in the open ocean. And now its innate curiosity overwhelmed it.

It would remain. But it would not be seen.

It slowly pressed its immense body against the wall of the cavern, drawing its branching limbs under it, flattening its bulk to shape itself into the cavern wall itself. Fully immersed into the contours of rock, it ceased moving.

Narrow rays of light appeared through the opening in the cavern and struck its flesh. Its skin quickly began to change color, to exactly match the drab hues of the cavern. Its eyes narrowed to slits.

It became the wall.

Sure of its invisibility, it calmly watched as the disturbance entered its lair.

In the beam of his dive light, Breck could see that several feet ahead the narrow shaft opened into some sort of larger room. A good thing, because the passage had narrowed enough in a few places that he’d been worried the heavier Pelletier might not pass. But the Frenchman had proven amazingly capable of squeezing his thick belly through tighter tunnels.

Breck released a breath of air to reduce his buoyancy, then pressed his body against the hard limestone beneath him and guided himself forward, kicking lightly to prevent stirring up ancient sediments. His scuba tank bumped against the convoluted rock above as he squeezed through the last few feet of the final restriction.

He felt a familiar sense of wonder as he entered the upper corner of a vast chamber. The artificial light revealed a considerable space spreading outward and downward, filled entirely with clear seawater, long enough that even in the powerful light the distance to the far wall was difficult to assess and distorted by lack of perspective. There was simply nothing to use for scale. He would need to be sure to get Pelletier into some of the shots.

He tied off their primary safety line, and then with his dive knife cut the line to free the spool. From a smaller spool clasped to his vest, he then affixed a new, secondary line to the primary line. He entered the chamber.

Breck raised his camera toward the ceiling and heard the faint click as its flash lit the silent cavern. Creeping along the rock above was an inverted reddish shrimp the size of his finger, with oversized antennae swaying in the current as it crept along the rough surface. As Breck gripped the camera, he noticed that his hand had stopped hurting. The mostly sterile seawater in here was probably cleansing the wound.

He snapped another image, this time directed into the open chamber. In the bright light he noticed that this cavern, which appeared to be at least seventy feet long and half as wide, was much broader than the others he and Pelletier had encountered in this network. This was by no means the largest chamber he had ever seen, but it was impressively large nonetheless. And there was something very unique about it. Nearly all the others this size had exhibited a beautiful natural architecture of stalactites, stalagmites, and other cave formations, but this one was different. Barren. Almost as though something had worn the sides smooth over the centuries—or cleared the space out. The lack of calcite formations made the chamber seem all the larger, giving it a lonely, empty feel.

Like a tomb.

He thought again of his friend Mack. He would love this place. But the last time he’d seen him, he’d thrown in the towel, finally fed up with the handicap he’d brought home from Iraq.

Breck glanced at his depth gauge as he attained neutral buoyancy near mid-water in the space. Two-hundred twenty-five feet down. Deep, indeed. And they were two or three times farther back than that laterally. He looked back to make sure his safety line—like Hansel’s fabled trail of bread crumbs—was still affixed near the opening from which he had come, and saw Pelletier’s (Gretel’s , he thought, smiling) light appear in the dark cavity as he too arrived at the chamber. After Pelletier tied off and entered, Breck pointed out the shrimp suspended from the ceiling above, and the Frenchman nodded and moved toward it.

They had passed through a long, claustrophobic corridor in the cave system to get here. It hadn’t been overly tight by cave standards—maybe five or six feet across for most of its distance—until the slightly narrower restriction here at the end. On the way, they’d encountered two other large grottos. The first one, three hundred feet in from the main entry shaft, had an enchanting ballroom feel, with a high ceiling and hundreds of conical stalagmites rising from the floor—graceful dancers frozen a thousand years ago as they twirled past one another. The other chamber was long and low and lined with hundreds of straws—calcite formations that spanned from floor to ceiling like prison bars, which had made passage difficult.

As Breck raised his camera again and continued to document this third chamber, he thought about his sister back in Philly. Deanna was going to love these pictures, and his nephew, Lucas, would like them even more. They already displayed several of his amateur shots, blown up and framed in her home office—all of images taken inside caverns from around the world. But none like this.

Deanna hated tight spaces. She would’ve freaked out back in those tunnels, in knowing how far he was from the surface now. She’d always been a phenomenal athlete, especially before she’d had kids, but had never had the guts to do what he did. Not only because of the diving part, but also the squeezing-through-impossibly-tight-passages part. Few people did. But he had never been scared. And he didn’t have kids. Never would. His independence was too important, and his profession too dangerous.

But this was the reward.

Pelletier tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to the Frenchman and saw that he was signaling a familiar message, as he did every three minutes. Time to assess their air supplies. Breck looked at his gauges and relayed the number via hand signals. They still had plenty of air. But to be safe, they would have to turn back in less than five minutes. Even on the low-nitrogen Trimix blend of gasses—which included helium in addition to oxygen—this far down they were already pushing the limits, and they knew it. When caving, it always paid to err on the side of caution.

Breck kicked into the center of the broad chamber and scanned its walls with his light. This chamber truly was different from all the others they had previously mapped—much more open. The surface rock here was much smoother than any other they had thus far encountered.

As he snapped another photo, he noticed something else. Something that bothered him.

A fine sprinkling of silt swirled in the open volume of the chamber, churning in the motion of Breck’s fins. Too much silt for the men to have brought with them as they entered its expanse. Underwater, suspended sediment was evidence of recent motion. And like in the other chambers, the water in this one should have been absolutely still before their arrival.

Unless something had stirred it.

Although they might be kicking up some sediment now, the particles spanned as far as his dive light could reach. Something had disrupted the still water in this chamber before they arrived. And recently.

Perhaps with the tidal shifts there was a stronger ocean current in here, which caused an eddy over the rubble at the bottom of the chamber. That might release a few finer particles into the room. On the far side of the chamber, he noticed several large, dark cavities that might lead to the depths of the ocean. They would have to be especially vigilant. If they were forced to fight a current on their return, that might cause serious complications.

Just then, Breck felt a slight movement of water against his face. He nodded to himself. Yes. There was some sort of current flowing through here. This passage must link directly to the open ocean, and probably was heavily influenced by moving water. That might also explain the smoother chamber walls, which could have eroded over time.

Pelletier, who looked ghostly pale in the artificial light, nodded at him, acknowledging the current. The Frenchman began to turn away. As his light struck the wall of the chamber, the rock suddenly appeared to move.

To bulge.

Breck shook his head to clear it and looked again at the cavern wall. It did bulge out toward the center, as though swollen, but no longer seemed to be moving. Had Pelletier noticed anything? If so, he wasn’t reacting to it.

Breck realized he must be seeing things. That was a bad sign down here, but didn’t make any sense since his air mixture was low in nitrogen. Narcosis was highly unlikely. But if it happened again, it would be wise to begin their exit immediately.

He glanced at his dive computer. Better hurry, John. Breck rapped on the Frenchman’s tank with his knuckles to get his attention. When Pelletier looked back at him, Breck motioned for the biologist to move toward the bulging chamber wall. Having a person framed in some images would later provide them with crucial perspective to describe the geological formations and size of each cavern. And unlike Breck’s drab blue wet suit, which hardly stood out underwater, the Frenchman’s black-and-yellow neoprene made for sharp contrast to the muted background.

Once Pelletier had neared to within an arm’s reach of the curving wall, he turned back to Breck. Breck raised the camera, and another flash silently lit the chamber. There. He saw it again.

The wall had moved—hadn’t it? He took a deep breath.

He swam closer to Pelletier, shining his dive light past the Frenchman at the pale rock, which up close appeared to be textured by low, fist-size bumps. Almost directly behind Pelletier was a small crease on the wall. Was it his imagination, or was the rock there now taking on a shade of Pelletier’s yellow wetsuit?

Breck moved closer and this time directed the camera past his partner, toward the odd crease, which was the length of his arm. He realized it was actually two small parallel ridges, forming a seam rising several inches off the wall. He depressed the shutter release and the flash went off. In the bright light, the seam momentarily looked more distinct. Almost like lips, or . . .

The seam parted.

Breck was looking into an eye.

He flinched backward and squeezed the camera reflexively, its bright flash illuminating the cavern. The huge catlike eye narrowed, and suddenly the walls of the cave itself seemed to be collapsing. Breck felt the rush of moving water all around him and watched in horror as the side of the chamber began to change shape. The entire wall was separating itself from the cavern.

Detaching itself.

Something as long as the cavern. Something living.

The camera flashed again. Breck dropped it and began to kick frantically away from the huge mass that continued to swell into the space. Pelletier, sensing the movement behind him, quickly followed. Other parts of the cavern face seemed to break free and squiggle into the water. Breck saw something dart up toward Pelletier. An instant later, the Frenchman was ripped backward so forcefully his regulator popped free of his mouth, releasing a cloud of bubbles.

He reached desperately for Breck, the whites of his eyes visible even in the dim light as twin snakes of rust-colored flesh coiled around his thighs. His face contorted in pain as the coils pulled in opposite directions, bending his legs sideways at impossible angles. A dark seam appeared at the groin of his splitting wetsuit. There was a muted pop as one leg came free in a dark cloud of blood.

Breck spun away. He spied the dark entrance hole near the cavern’s ceiling and kicked with everything he had, then forced his way into the hole. His tank clanged against the rock as he struggled farther into the narrowing cave system.

Something touched his thigh and began to adhere to it, and he swung a fist at the taut, fleshy thing, beating at it. He felt a jerk as it pulled at him, at his equipment, and then he was free again as some of his gear fell away. He did not look back.

A minute passed. Two. Keep going.

He lost track of time as he fled the monstrosity, pushing away thoughts of despair as he again began to think about his air. He was a long way from the surface. There would be no turning back.

The tunnel branched, and he paused to scan his options. One tunnel appeared to end almost immediately, so he went the other way. Ten yards later, he ran into a restriction. He glanced back and saw that, at least for the moment, he was alone. And that his safety line no longer trailed behind him. He touched his belt and realized the spool was missing. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going back anyway.

He began to wriggle into the oppressive opening that offered his only remaining hope. It was only a few feet across, and he was forced to slide along on his belly. He listened to his tank scrape along the rock above, but he was making progress. He thought he felt something touch his foot and then there was a surge of adrenaline and he was through the restriction. He started to kick again, then stopped.

A dead end.

Fifteen feet ahead, the tunnel tapered to a hole no larger than his fist. He moved to examine it, but was only able to confirm what he already knew. There was nowhere to go. He felt an overwhelming despair.

He turned around and came to rest in a sitting position, looking back into the shifting clouds of silt. Preparing himself. But after a few moments, nothing appeared. He glanced at his air. Maybe ten minutes left. Maybe less.

So this is it. He began to tremble.

He sat at the end of the tunnel, his light pointed into blackness, as he waited for the thing to reappear and claim him.

He was dead.

Confined to the small space, the specimen simply had given up. The arrow-like male squid had settled to the bottom of the tank, where his arms had relaxed into a beautiful fanlike pattern below his mantle, but any appealing coloration he had once been capable of had faded from his body.

Dr. Valerie Martell sat on a stool beside the two-hundred-gallon tank, staring at the dead cephalopod. The latest batch of Dosidicus gigas—ten juvenile specimens in all, each about the size of a large lamp—had been relatively healthy. All were now gone. This little guy had been the last holdout.

She wasn’t surprised. All along, she had disagreed with the aquarium director’s insistence to continue trying to raise this species in captivity. They were animals that belonged in the open ocean. Still, she had hoped that maybe, just maybe, this one would survive. He had seemed tougher than the rest. But now he was gone too.

She sighed. This squid was just her latest failure.

Outside the lab, it was gray and raining in Moss Landing. January along the Central California coastline often brought slow-moving systems that yielded most of the year’s precipitation, turning the hillsides a brilliant green. Despite the weather, Val knew that she should be doing something outside today. Getting some exercise. Going for a drive. Or even trying to catch a matinee. It was a Saturday, and she hadn’t really taken a day off in a month. She glanced at her running shoes beside the door, where she kept them for when she needed to blow off steam, but didn’t get up.

Looking back at the juvenile squid, she thought about Will. Her research on these squid had brought them together. So much had changed in the last year, though.

He probably had left home by now. When she’d departed early in the morning, he’d still been snoring on the couch, the blinds closed to the daylight. She had gotten him a job doing maintenance at the nearby shipyard, as he planned the next career move. It was only supposed to be a temporary job. But he wasn’t moving forward. Just as she had done lately, he’d been immersing himself in his work. Avoiding her.

And then there was his drinking.

Val picked up a set of metal forceps and poked at the squid in the tank. Three days ago, Specimen Number Forty-four had been captured right here in Monterey Bay, where a resident population had established itself over the past decade. Hooked by an old fisherman who knew of the squid’s value and thus brought the live specimens in.

Like this squid, her partner didn’t seem to thrive in a sedentary life. After he’d almost died two years ago, he’d needed to undergo months of physical therapy. And his life had been in disarray. They’d been in love, though, and things had been wonderful. There had even been talk of marriage, which neither of them had expected. For the first time since junior high, Val had stopped focusing on her work. They had filled voids in each other’s lives, and she had released a remarkable passion in him.

But that was more than a year ago.

She’d waited patiently for him to get back on his feet. He’d done quite well for the first year, although she knew inside he’d never fully recover from some of the losses he’d suffered.

And then, such a scary but wonderful thing had happened. Right before the bad thing happened.

Since that day, she had watched helplessly as he slowly self-destructed over the past six months. As he started drinking again, slowly at first. Just a few beers. Then, not long after, more frequently. And then he bought the first bottle of rum. He said it was to quell the nightmares, as it had in the past, and to deal with the constant pain in his shoulder. Although she voiced her concern, she put up with it, perhaps out of guilt. She knew that his shoulder, and many of his scars, still represented sacrifices made out of his love for her.

And then he had started to become dark. Angry. He was never abusive, but frightening, his temper simmering beneath his cowboy hat like a pot about to boil over.

Val shook the thought away as she watched the raindrops spatter against the window. She wonder. . .