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  Without missing a beat, Megan replied, “You only have to look out your window.”

  Pursing her lips briefly, Major Ganlin answered, “I’ll send an escort with you. Report to Sargent Bayne and tell him you need a small team to go with you. I’ll leave the choices to his discretion.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I can give you something worthwhile.”

  “Thanks, sweetie,” the sheriff said. “Please be careful.”

  “That goes without saying.” Megan left with a smile.

  If only he felt that secure inside.

  Indicating Deputies Carver and Smith with a nod, he said, “Would you please go with her as well? I hate for anyone to go near the water.”

  After his officers’ departure, Major Ganlin’s eyes returned to his. “Any more issues since last we spoke?”

  “A local surfer happened upon the remains of several other surfers at Old Dunes State Beach. Lucky for him he didn’t join them.”

  “Anything else?”

  “There are reports of a missing jogger, but no body has turned up yet. Her next of kin are clamoring for answers. There’s a missing beachcomber whose favorite pastime was picking up litter along the coast. Witnesses claim they saw a large rock crawl back into the surf near where he usually worked. They’re calling it a ‘rocktopus.’ His gear was found mangled right where the octopus was reportedly perched in the sand.

  “We’re also investigating recent reports of a pair of missing jetskiers from out of town and a couple whose tent was found abandoned on the beach.”

  Before the major could ask another question, he queried, “Anything on your end?”

  Her eyes flicking through the tent flap, she stated flatly, “The pier has become a hotspot of unrest with the protestors. They keep trying to push through our barricades to get access to the pier. Their efforts are largely a symbolic gesture, but nonetheless, it keeps far too many of my men tied down here when they could be patrolling higher-risk areas and allaying citizen concerns.”

  He answered positively. “Hopefully the Highway Patrol will be able to relieve some of that burden.”

  She gestured along the coast at the map. “We’ve already shut down major coastal access points along the PCH. However, our efforts are porous at best, because the area between Oceanview and its nearest neighbors to the north and south is far too broad to effectively seal. And given its economic significance, particularly with tourists, the governor has asked that we not close the Pacific Coast Highway. I will continue to argue that its closure will not only make our jobs easier but the situation far safer for all parties concerned.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I’ll lend my support. Tourists can use the inland highways. The last thing we need is unsuspecting innocents showing up without a clue as to what’s happening.”

  With a motion of her head toward the tent’s exterior, indicating all the news crews, Major Ganlin replied, “I don’t know how long that will be the case. But the danger remains real whether people know about it or not.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nothing for now. I plan on patrolling with my men as soon as we finish the press conference here. They could use as much help as they can get. I’ll let you know as soon as the governor’s position changes.”

  He liked her confidence.

  They would need it.

  “Ready to go talk to some reporters?” he asked.

  She snorted, her hard exterior breaking for just a brief moment. “Why don’t I let you do the talking? I’ll stand in the background and look authoritative.”

  He laughed. “Done!”

  Holding back the tent flap, he let Major Ganlin and her assistants precede him out into the noise and confusion of the awaiting mob.

  His hands gripped the podium so tightly that his knuckles were white. His palms were sweating.

  He hated speaking before groups.

  Especially when they were actually listening to him.

  Yelling for order or to give directions was an entirely different matter.

  As he cleared his throat, the multicolored array of microphones attached to the stand responded with a healthy whine of feedback.

  “Thank you all for coming.”

  He wasn’t thankful.

  Far from it.

  Although their jobs were important, the media merely complicated his job. They were very good at getting in the way.

  “This is a difficult time for everyone.”

  It would be a bit less difficult if all these people would go home…

  He needed to focus and take control. Leverage what he could to turn the situation around as much as possible.

  And quit grumbling.

  “We have faced one tragedy after another. One impossibly improbable situation after another.

  “We now border an alien world. One we don’t really understand and cannot yet risk exploring.

  “Please respect this danger.

  “It is real.

  “We have already lost more than enough.”

  Indicating Major Ganlin with a wave of his arm, he said, “With Major Ganlin’s help and her able troops, we are attempting to secure the beachfront. The CHP will be assisting in this effort. Your help in avoiding the coast, as difficult and inconvenient as this may be, is much appreciated.

  “Major beach access points are closed.

  “The beach is off-limits.

  “Please let us get the situation under control and understood before venturing out or pushing the boundaries.

  “We have a team exploring why this happened and what can be done to remedy the situation.

  “We will need time to make this work. Please give it to us so that we can give you your beach back.”

  He felt like a second-rate politician giving a tired stump speech.

  “Are there any questions?”

  He didn’t want to ask.

  But he had to.

  “Officer Hayes…”

  “Sheriff Hayes…”

  “Mr. Hayes!”

  The mob around him clamored for information, raising voices, shouting over one another until finally one lucky winner got to ask their question. Acknowledging the victor, a well-groomed lady from KFMB in San Diego, he let her ask her question.

  “What can you tell us about the attacks and the victims of the unfortunate events?”

  A big question there… two in fact. She could get quite a bit from him with such an open-ended line of inquiry… if he let her.

  He was in a giving mood.

  “The first known incident claimed the life of a fisherman on the bay and appears to have been the result of an attack by a group of Humboldt squids. The incident was instigated by shining a signal light into the water in order to draw their attention.

  “The second incident involved two young men on the very pier behind me.” Directing his attention to the nearby protestors that the Guard had cordoned off from the news conference, he added, “One I would recommend you avoid for the time being. Again, the victim was fishing. A giant octopus of some sort flew out of the water and claimed one of the teenagers’ lives.

  “A third incident involved a jogger that never returned from her evening run. No signs of her body have been found. The only eyewitnesses to come forward say they saw her running one moment near the break and that she was gone the next.

  “A group of surfers was found washed up along the shore at Old Dunes State Beach. An eyewitness there did not see the incident take place, happening upon the scene well after it occurred.

  “A beachcomber is presumed missing after he never returned from his daily stroll along the beach to pick up litter.

  “Finally, we are presently investigating reports of a pair of missing jetskiers and a couple whose tent was found unoccupied along the shore.

  “We hope there are no more incidents.”

  Seeing that he was finished, the group grumbled and shifted while his name was called out in more variations than he thought possible.


  Finally, a soft-spoken reporter from KCRW in LA asked, “What can you tell us about the cause of these events? What does it mean?”

  He shrugged. “What does anything mean?”

  That wasn’t they type of answer they were looking for. He wasn’t about to enter into a philosophical discussion or a logical debate. These people wanted reassurance and information. They wanted things to make sense.

  They didn’t want some tired old man to start rambling about man’s search for meaning or lack thereof.

  He tried again. “Understand that what I am about to say is merely conjecture and should at this point be considered as such.

  “As you know, the local fisheries have suffered of late with decreased catch and reduced quality of those fish harvested. One prevailing thought—at this point no more than speculation—is that the collapse of the local fishery may be the cause of certain marine organisms searching for food sources in new areas, while also experimenting with new food types.

  “On the other hand, it is also quite possible that these changes in marine life, whatever they are and however they are caused, may have been the cause of the fishery’s collapse. Perhaps these changes in sea life resulted in predators that are too efficient for their own good.

  “It may be the case that these organisms will die off without adequate resources to maintain them.”

  Where had he pulled that one from?

  Megan was rubbing off on him.

  “And what caused these creatures to evolve?”

  He missed who asked the question.

  “That is a question we are currently investigating along with the ultimate cause of these calamities.”

  Again the throng began buzzing and churning, seething with the need to ask the next question.

  Then somebody screamed.

  A few people pointed back toward the water, their faces masks of horror and incredulity.

  People started running.

  Microphones and notepads were dropped in the mad flight. Only the cameramen and a few of the more stalwart reporters held their ground, jockeying for a better angle.

  He turned to see what had caused the commotion.

  He wished he hadn’t.

  Some idiot was running full speed down the pier toward them.

  How he got by the Guard was anyone’s guess. He’d probably snuck by at night while some of his pals created a disturbance. Then, as part of his grand vision, he probably decided it would be cool or brave to stay on the pier overnight to show everyone that there was really nothing to be afraid of, nothing to fear.

  The whole point of all this was to try to instill some kind of order, to ensure everyone’s safety. Fools like this always found a way to make things more difficult.

  Of course, the fool had good reason to run.

  A coruscating cloud of cephalopods was quickly gaining on him—squid and octopi alike.

  A veritable tentacular tornado.

  Sighing, the sheriff drew his pistol and started barking commands.

  “Men, form up and lay down covering fire!”

  “Let’s get him home!”

  “Guard, get these people heading to the safety of their homes!”

  Even idiots deserved to live.

  At least until they dug themselves into a hole so deep they couldn’t get out.

  This genius had come awfully close.

  Worse than his potential loss was the risk his stupidity had posed to all those gathered at the pier’s end.

  Reloading his pistol, he could see there were quite a few who refused to leave.

  And unfortunately, his officers’ efforts didn’t seem to be slowing down the cephaloswarm.

  Bullets cut right through the things, yet they kept on flying.

  Taking a moment to bark another order before unloading more rounds, he yelled, “Get everyone out of here! We’re not slowing them down!”

  “Move it, people!” His voice boomed so loud it echoed off the shops lining the seafront.

  “Get out of here!”

  Joining the Guard at the blockade, he continued to fire.

  The runner was torn apart by a shoal of Humboldts about two hundred feet before reaching the barricade at the pier’s end.

  With the civilian gone, the sheriff ordered a retreat. There was no need to risk anyone else. “Fall back! Get in your vehicles and go!”

  Turning to make a dash for his own squad car, he saw that almost half the reporters and their crews lingered, ignoring him completely. Not caring how his image was seen for posterity, he bellowed, “Get out of here! Now! You are jeopardizing yourselves and my men! Go!”

  A few crews began heading to their vans, but most didn’t budge, caught up in the thrill of capturing the unfolding drama.

  He supposed they’d start moving when they started dying.

  As the rest of his officers and the Guard began running by, he brandished his pistol at the cameras and fired a warning shot over their heads. “Get the hell outta here!”

  Judging by the terror on their faces, he could see that his message was starting to get through.

  Sadly, it was too late.

  A massive spinning octopus lifted a screaming cameraman up into the air. As blood began to rain down on the shocked onlookers, his camera, with its golden K5 logo, fell to the ground with a crash.

  As Hayes dove to the pavement, the remains of the cameraman followed, hitting the asphalt hard.

  A group of iridescent Humboldt squids flashed red and white through the air where he had been yelling just moments before.

  The mass zeroed in on another target, and gouts of blue-black ink enveloped a reporter too slow on her feet. She was somehow immobilized by the poisonous spray, and the squid picked her apart within feet of the sheriff’s face.

  Gouts of blood sprayed all around, splattering his face and hands as he stood and ran, bent over, toward his patrol car.

  More screams followed his retreat.

  Turning back for a brief look, his eyes fell upon a scene of sheer madness.

  Bodies were literally being torn limb from limb across the beach.

  And more were coming.

  “Sheriff Hayes! Sheriff Hayes!”

  Looking back in the direction of the town, he saw a small Asian man running at full speed toward him—Master Tanaka, the proprietor of Sushi Yoshi, one the strand’s finest restaurants.

  “Shooting won’t work! They must be cut!”

  What was this crazy little man doing here?

  Tossing something to the sheriff as he approached, Master Tanaka yelled again. “They must be cut!”

  Catching the bundle as easily as he once intercepted passes intended to go over the defensive line in days long past, the sheriff looked down at his hands.

  A sword. A gleaming wooden sheath with intricate decorations. A masterful dragon dancing on clouds had been wrought into the guard.

  “For you, my finest katana!”

  Master Tanaka was passing out blades to as many people as would take them.

  And somehow, he was managing to wield a sword in his other hand, slicing apart anything that got near him.

  If an old sushi chef could distribute arms, offer support, save his fellow citizens, and fight at the same time, the least Hayes could do was try.

  Holstering his gun and drawing the gleaming blade from its sheath, he charged into the fray and began swinging.

  Teuthological Tautology

  These things had to die…

  But no matter how many he cut down, more just kept coming.

  They still had to die.

  One thing was working in their favor.

  Master Tanaka’s sushi restaurant was just a block away.

  How that man managed to have so many knives stored in one building, Hayes had no idea. But the implements of culinary delight were helping stave off the hordes of jet squids and bands of octocopters that kept surging up out of the water.

  Master Tanaka must have run the equivalent of a marathon with as
many trips as he made back and forth to his shop to ferry out blades for the Guard and the officers that had not yet taken cover.

  Of course, if those darn fool reporters had actually listened and stopped filming, none of this would have been necessary.

  Despite everything, most of the idiots were still planted in place. Some who had already left had even foolishly come back to resume filming.

  His blade sliced through the mantle of a squid with a satisfying firmness.

  Maybe he could talk Master Tanaka into letting him keep the sword on extended loan when all was said and done.

  His breathing deep and even, he looked up from the carnage to see that the sky was clear and the battle won.

  Unfortunately, the day had just begun.

  Picking up his gore-encrusted radio from his belt, he began calling for emergency assistance.

  Those things had to die.

  But first he had to tend to the living.

  Origins

  He jumped out of his cot at the police station, his heart racing.

  The ring of his cell phone immediately filled his mind with nightmares, phantasms worse than the ones he had suffered through while asleep.

  What had happened now?

  Had some other martyr decided to sacrifice himself to the beasts from the deep?

  Blinking to focus his eyes, rubbing them groggily, he picked up the phone without looking at who was calling and answered, “Sheriff Hayes.”

  “Dad, it’s me.”

  “Megan!” He had never been so glad to hear from his daughter. His deputies had assured him that all was well when they left, but given the current state of affairs, one could never be too sure.

  “I have some news.”

  “Really?”

  That was a first: something that might be helpful.

  Okay, that wasn’t entirely fair. More National Guard were on their way. Army troops were also moving in. FEMA would arrive tomorrow to begin organizing the recovery. Sadly, it had taken the sacrifice of far too many of his citizens and their protectors to bring about the change—but he would try to avoid being bitter.

  “I have consistently detected trace amounts of several chemicals I cannot identify in the water.”