The Leviathan’s Gaze | SCP-7207

The We saw the first signs of wreckage at sunset. The ocean undulated with waves the size of massive hills. The cutter navigated these swells like a bus moving steadily down a hilly stretch of road. The motion brought a vivid memory to mind, one I had spent a lifetime trying and failing to forget. As a kid, when I took the bus to middle school in Colorado, we always drove down Rollercoaster Road. True to its name, the stretch of asphalt consisted of a series of hills so steep and treacherous, my friends and I never dared ride our bikes on them. But my bus driver seemed to revel in speeding along the road, the long yellow vehicle riding the hills like waves on the way to and from school each weekday. It was commonplace for us to dare each other to surf the hills by standing in the bus's aisle while Mr. Buchanan navigated these slopes. Normally, the prospect of hearing the bus driver's bass rumble bark was enough to keep us from attempting it. But one day, right before summer vacation, I was inflated with the seeming invincibility of a kid with summer break stretching out before him. And I gave in to the dares. I stood up in the aisle and surfed the hills, grinning from ear to ear. I kept glancing at Mr. Buchanan's face and the large mirror over his seat, but his eyes were fixed on the road ahead. The seconds stretched past as my stomach did somersaults of excitement and rebellion. Then Mr. Buchanan took his eyes off the road and saw me. Just a few seconds. That was all it took. There! Someone said, snapping me back to the present. I stood on the bridge of the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Vigilant with the captain, who scanned the sea with a pair of binoculars. We had a 360-degree view thanks to the windows all around the bridge, but we were focused on the sea ahead. Coast Guardsmen manned the various instruments around the bridge. As a landlubber and a guest aboard the ship, I didn't know what the hell half of them were, but I felt like I was in good hands with this lot of Coasties, as they called themselves. One of these coasties, I wasn't sure which one, had spotted something. Captain Cuevas gestured me over and handed me the binoculars. He pointed out one wall of windows. Over there, you'll be able to see it in a moment when we crest this wave. We were facing south, the sun setting to our right, rays glimmering off the water. This made it easier to see the irregularity on the surface. Debris from a boat. Presumably the same boat from which we'd received the strange report nearly two hours ago. It was the most recent odd report in a string of bizarre incidents going back six weeks. It's why I was here, along with a small contingent of other Foundation operatives. Although it was hard to tell size from this distance, I guessed that the wreckage was quite large. It was white and jagged, its edges torn instead of cut. To my untrained eye, it looked like a section of cabin ceiling ripped from a yacht or pleasure craft. That matched the distress call we'd received from the cruising trawler, Eternity. I handed the binoculars back, nodding. The ship continued toward the piece of debris. One of the coasties kept trying to raise the Eternity on the radio, but continued to receive no response. A Lieutenant Moses appeared, whispering into Captain Cuevas' ear for a moment. Thank you, Lieutenant, Cuevas said. He looked at me. Let's go to the CIC. I followed the two men to the back of the bridge and down a short flight of stairs into a cool, windowless room filled with computers and other electronic devices. I had no idea about the stuff on the bridge, but the instruments in the Combat Information Center made me feel like I'd stepped into the far future. Moses and Cuevas moved over to a screen manned by a guy in his early 20s. his young face bathed in green light. He glanced up at his captain and then at me, his eyes fixing on the two grenades hanging from my vest. I was in full gear, complete with my M4 carbine attached to me by a strap and held across my chest. I guessed the Coast Guard didn't see many frag grenades, or maybe the guy was new. Cuevas cleared his throat. What have you got? A whale, I think, the young man said, snapping his eyes back to the screen. You think? Well, sir, it's doing things whales shouldn't be able to do. Lieutenant Moses glanced at me, an eyebrow raised. Like what kinds of things? I asked, getting closer to the screen. Well, either the instruments are glitching out, or the whale is disappearing and reappearing. Now all three men looked at me, as if they expected me to say, Oh sure, that's perfectly normal. I looked at the screen, seeing nothing I could make sense of. It looked like random green static interspersed with odd sound waves. The young man had a pair of headphones on, one ear uncovered so he could hear us. You say it's reappearing? Is it still around? How far is it? Well, it's hard to say. I lost contact. One moment, I could hear its movements through the water, and then they suddenly stopped with the sound like a huge air bubble popping. Then they started again from another direction. This happened a few times in the last couple of minutes, but I haven't heard it again since you guys showed up. We've spotted two PIWs at three o'clock, Lieutenant Moses said, pressing one hand to an earpiece I hadn't noticed earlier. Alert us if you hear the wail again, Captain Cuevas said, as he hustled away from the station. I followed. PIW? What does that mean? Person in water. Quevas said over his shoulder. We hurried back up the stairs to the bridge. I unclipped my radio from my belt and spoke into it. Sanford, you read me? Copy. We've got two survivors at three o'clock. I want you all out on deck, ready for anything. Got it. Heading there now. Once again, the captain and I stood at the bridge windows, but this time on the right side of the ship, starboard. I didn't need binoculars to spot the two survivors in the last of the fading daylight. It was a man and a woman, clinging to what looked like a shredded and mostly deflated orange raft. All that remained of the emergency vessel was one sausage-like buoyancy tube. The rest of it had been deflated or ripped away entirely. Both survivors waved at us with one arm while clinging to the section of raft with the other. As the ocean breathed, we lost sight of them, dipping down into the trough between two waves. When they came back into sight again, they weren't alone. Behind them, just a few feet below the water surface, was a massive dark blot. A whale. I couldn't tell at first if the odd shape of it was due to the distortion created by the ever-moving water, or if it was really as misshapen and deformed as it appeared. A moment later, I found out for sure. It neared the oblivious survivors from behind. As it closed in, its head broke the water surface. Only then did they realize something was wrong. They both looked toward the source of the noise. Although I couldn't see their faces, I imagined the looks of terror they wore. The two humans looked like action figures beside a mastiff compared to the colossal head that came out of the water. It only broadly resembled a whale's head in shape. Irregular fin-like protrusions jutted from the black-blue surface. I counted five eyes at a glance. Only one of them where a normal whale's eye would be. The other four sprouted from thick stalks and seemed to move on their own, most of them swiveling to fix on the humans, while one of them glared at the ship with what struck me as a disappointment, disgust, and blame. That gaze struck a familiar chord in me, and I forced it away, telling myself I was anthropomorphizing the creature. The woman, being the farthest of the two from the incoming whale, threw herself away from the raft and started swimming toward us. The man did the same, but precious moments too late. The creature's jaw opened, revealing teeth that would have looked at home in a great white's mouth, only bigger and more numerous. Its lower jaw split in half down the middle, revealing two more rows of what I first thought were teeth along the inner edges of the split. But they weren't teeth. Not exactly. As the creature swam forward, putting the man in between either side of this open lower jaw, I noticed that these protrusions of bone looked more like saw blades than teeth. The upper and lower jaws remained open, as if the thing wanted us to see the man's gruesome death. And it was gruesome. The saw-like teeth cut him in half as easily as a hot dog caught between a pair of scissors. I lost the man's legs from view as they presumably traveled under the beast's belly. But his severed upper body was very much visible as the creature lifted its head, a sedan-sized tongue lifting and rolling him around. The man's intestines tumbled from his abdomen as his arms waved wildly. almost as though he was still trying to swim away. Then the creature's jaws closed, cutting off our view. Despite her frantic swimming, the woman hadn't made it very far, and the ship wouldn't get near her for another thirty seconds or so. As the massive waves continued their endless trudge across the ocean, we lost the creature and the woman from view. The man's death had happened in the time it took for the expansive waves to bring us to their top and send us back down again. No more than ten seconds. There was no way the woman would survive. Below, on the main deck, I spotted the rest of my team, all four of them geared up and ready to go. But there was nothing they could do. If we couldn't see the whale from up here in the superstructure, there was no way they could see it from down there. But even if they could, I doubt their weapons would do much of anything to the massive creature. Just forward of the bridge, on the main deck, a massive MK3825mm autocannon set atop a raised platform, manned by two coasties. They had the weapon pointed in the right direction, but I knew they would never have a chance to fire, not with the civilians so close to the creature. The ship also featured two .50 caliber machine guns, one on either side of the superstructure. But the gunners manning them had the same issue as those manning the autocannon. They would never get the go-ahead to fire unless they had a clear shot. The entire bridge fell silent in shocked resignation as the waves made a mockery of the ship's attempts to traverse them. We were moving, but not nearly fast enough. The ship was equipped with a helicopter, but it was already deployed. It had been tasked with searching a different sector of the ocean. Maybe if it was here we could save the woman I thought As we crested the next wave I expected to see the creature devouring the woman or perhaps no evidence that the woman had ever been there But I pulled in a shock breath when I saw her still swimming frantically for us The creature was gone, as if it had disappeared. The sun was below the western horizon by the time we got the woman aboard, the fading glow in the sky just enough to see by. I had left the bridge and was now with my team near the empty helicopter pad at the back of the ship. We scanned the waves for any sign of the beast as Coasties ushered the inconsolable woman from the deck and toward the sickbay. According to the woman, there were no more survivors. Our job was done here, and the ship was turning away from the area, presumably to meet up with the helicopter on calmer seas. Then we would head back toward the mainland. So? Sanford asked, no one in particular. Anomalous or not? Are you serious? Katz asked, shifting slightly as the ship started up a wave. You think normal waves can just disappear in ten seconds? Nah, we would have seen a dark shape and the water as it swam away. It wasn't a normal whale, that's for sure, Raman said, without taking his eyes off the darkening ocean. But I think it could have dove straight down in the time we couldn't see it. I'm not sure about disappearing. What about you, sir? Sanford asked. Any new intel from being up on the bridge? I nodded. I can say with high confidence that the creature is anomalous. One of the coasties up there in charge of an underwater listening device seems to think the whale disappears every so often, leaving a whale-sized hole in the ocean that implodes loudly. Shit, Cat said. And he didn't know about the reports from other survivors? I shook my head. So that's some verification. The whole reason my team was out on the ocean had to do with several reports of a strange-looking whale attacking boats and even small ships. Dozens of people had been killed. A couple of survivors said they'd seen the whale disappear right before their eyes. What I'm not sure of, I continued, is whether there's only one of the things. But we've done our job. We can recommend getting a task force out here. Maybe the deep feeders. This is right up their alley. Sure. If we can get back to shore without that fucking thing attacking us, Sanford said. Three of us murmured at that. Cats, the most superstitious of us, glared at Sanford. The fifth and final member of our team, a Native American man named Chaska, said nothing. He stood slightly apart from the rest of us, at the railing, scanning the waves intensely. Chaska could let loose, but never while on a mission. He always stayed quiet and watchful until we were safe. Having him watch my back was always a huge comfort. Although his behavior was ordinary, I still liked to check on him. You good, Jaska? He nodded without turning. That was all I needed. As the western horizon dimmed to a faint ghostly glow, I moved across the helicopter pad to the back of the ship, away from the lights. I peered into the sky, marveling at the splash of brightening stars stretching overhead, glowing brilliantly without any nearby source of light pollution. The ocean seemed to be calming, the hilly waves shrinking, making it slightly easier to keep my balance on the rocking deck. I turned my gaze to the ocean. The ribbon of frothy water churned up by the propellers seemed to follow us, always changing but still staying the same. My memory of that day on the bus, the last day of eighth grade, came to the fore again. My mind fast-forwarded through the urging from my friends, and the feelings of excitement as I stood in the aisle, feet sideways, arms out for balance. Then the recollection slowed to a crawl as Mr. Buchanan looked up from the dangerous road at exactly the wrong time. Just over the crest of the next hill, a car was pulling out of a driveway. Of course, we didn't know that until it was too late. The hill blocked the view. If I hadn't been messing around, distracting the bus driver, he might have been able to brake and swerved to miss the vehicle. Maybe he could have limited the damage done by only hitting the very front of the car. But that's not what happened. We crested the hill just as Mr. Buchanan was opening his mouth to shout at me. I saw the car before he did. The driver, having pulled about three quarters out of the driveway to turn right in the direction we were headed, froze. I saw her terrified face as the bus bored down on her. I learned later that she was a new driver. She'd only had her permit for three weeks before the accident. Before I could react, the bus crashed into the side of the car at an angle, crumpling the driver's door in and whipping the vehicle into the ditch. The impact sent me flying, crashing into a seat back and then the floor, where I slammed my head against the metal hard enough to give me a concussion. I wasn't sure how long I lost consciousness, but it couldn't have been long. When I came to, I was still on the bus. My friends crouched in the aisle around me, their worried faces tight with concern. The other kids were freaking out. Some were crying. Some were joking and laughing nervously. My head throbbed, and I tasted blood in my mouth from where I'd bitten my lip. But as I got to my feet, ensuring my friends I was okay, I noticed that the bus door was open, and Mr. Buchanan was gone. I looked out the window to see that the bus was stopped not far from the silver car in the ditch. I moved to the back of the bus, looking out to see Mr. Buchanan holding a cell phone the size of a brick to his ear as he peered inside the vehicle. The car was tilted, almost on its side in the ditch. The windows I could see were broken. The side of the car was crumpled in so badly, I didn't want to imagine what had happened to the driver. But I didn't have to. As a frantic Mr. Buchanan moved from beside the vehicle, I got a glimpse through the driver's side window. The teenage girl was covered in blood. The left side of her face was deformed, skin hanging off. Her skull was misshapen because it had been cracked open. The woman in the passenger seat, who I learned later was the girl's mom, was also bloody and unconscious. As Mr. Buchanan paced around at the edge of the ditch, speaking frantically into his phone, he turned toward the bus. Our eyes met, and the look on his face froze me in place, despite the rubbery feeling in my legs. There was no anger in his eyes, no rage, only disappointment, disgust, and blame. The moment seemed to stretch, but as soon as he tore his eyes from mine, I collapsed to the aisle. A wave of sorrow and regret crashed into me, and I cried until my parents arrived. I later learned that the girl died and her mother had several broken bones. Although the police wanted to interview me after the fact, my dad immediately got his lawyer friend involved. I told my father what happened, revealing that I wanted to take whatever punishment was coming my way. But he wouldn't hear of it. The lawyer handled everything, and I never got in trouble. Mr. Buchanan, on the other hand, was fired from his job and sued by the family. I don't know what happened to him after that. I wanted nothing more than to forget all about the incident. I never truly forgot it, but I had managed to shove it into a seldom accessed part of my mind until the rocking of the ship brought it back. Now, standing on the deck of the Coast Guard Cutter, I couldn't help but think of the look I saw in the whale creature's eye. It reminded me of the look Mr. Buchanan had given me, but that was ridiculous. It was my imagination, surely. Movement around me drew my attention. I turned to see several coasties rushing around the helicopter pad. One of them came over. Sorry, sir, but you'll have to move. The helicopter's returning. I nodded. No problem. But I wanted one last look at the stars before going back toward the superstructure, where the lights were brighter. I glanced up at the splash of stars. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to shove the bus crash memories back into their hidey hole. When I opened my eyes again, the stars were gone. No, that wasn't right. A good many of them were obscured by something in the sky. And whatever was doing the obscuring was glowing, blotting out more and more stars. I didn't understand what I was seeing, not at first. Then it struck me like the floor of a school bus coming up to meet me. I could just make out the contours of the thing blocking the stars. It wasn't glowing. It was getting closer. A huge whale-shaped thing had appeared in the sky directly over the ship. And it was falling. Get out of the way! I shouted. A moment later, the creature smashed into the superstructure. Metal shrieked as it bent and snapped. Glass shattered. Men and women screamed. One second, the windows to the bridge were there. The next, they were gone, obliterated underneath the massive creature. The whale impacted lengthwise, its underbelly crashing into the tallest part of the ship first. Time slowed as I watched the creature's massive, deformed tail crash down into the deck 30 feet in front of me. The cutter, at 210 feet long, was larger than the creature by maybe 100 feet, but the damage it delivered was disastrous. The impact traveled through the ship, throwing me into the air. I hit the slip-resistant steel deck painfully, and for a moment I was a child again, back on the bus' floor, reeling from the crash I had caused. A metallic tang invaded my mouth from where I'd bitten my lip. As I got to my hands and knees, the ship listed as the whale began to slide off. Survivors darted around, shouting. The injured grunted or shrieked in pain. I spotted three members of my team near one tip of the tail. They too had been knocked off their feet and were currently trying to scramble out of the way as the tail moved. The only one I didn't see was Katz. But I had no time to think about him. A spewing sound erupted from the whale. I looked up to see a geyser of gray liquid gushing from the creature's blowhole. The viscous liquid rained down all over the ship and the surrounding sea, most of it landing thickly nearest the creature. Globs of the foul-smelling liquid slapped the deck around me. On instinct, I dodged it, afraid of getting any on me. The deck tilted more as the whale continued to slide off. The geyser ceasing just before it flopped down into the ocean. I slid down the texture-coated steel, bounced off the railing, and tumbled into the ocean. When I broke the surface, I saw the ship rocking, miraculously not capsized My gear threatened to pull me under but I swam hard back toward the ship along with dozens of other people who been thrown off Since the vessel was so large it was impossible to simply reach up and grab the railing We all had to swim toward a side where there was equipment designed to get people out of the water. Whether that equipment was still working, or if there was anyone who could operate it, I had no idea. Despite the water, many of the swimmers around me were still covered in that grayish goo. It was a minor concern, as memories of the man getting bitten in half played in my head. I scanned the sea for any sign of the creature, seeing none. The ship's violent rocking had created waves that pushed everyone farther away. But as we swam, they became less intense, calming as the ship settled. Nearing the rescue equipment, I saw that some coasties were there. They threw a net over the side so the swimmers could climb up. Hardin! Someone shouted. I looked over at the mention of my name, recognizing the stress-tightened voice. Sanford swam through the water toward me, that gray goop flattening his hair and clinging to his mustache. Where's everyone else? I huffed, still fighting the extra weight but refusing to ditch any of my gear. Casca's over there! Sanford said, pointing toward the net. I saw the man nearing the ship some fifteen yards away. Most of the lights on the ship were now broken, but one of the coasties at a spotlight pointed at an area of the ocean surrounding the net. Anyone else? Cats is gone. He got crushed by the tail. Not sure about ramen. Lost him when we went overboard. I cursed but continued swimming, feeling the energy drain for me with each stroke. Look out! The coastie with the spotlight shouted, pointing to my left. I followed his finger and saw the ocean separating around the whale creature's head. Two coasties directly in the thing's path panicked, slapping up the water like they were just learning to swim. As the creature's mouth opened, I reached down to my vest and grabbed one of the frag grenades from beneath the surface of the water. Swimming with my legs only, I pressed the lever down and ripped the pin out. This time, the creature didn't split its lower jaw apart. Instead, it simply pulled the two coasties into its mouth with a swimming pool's worth of water. As its maw started to shut, I lobbed the grenade. The weapon plopped into the water just inside its lower row of massive shark-like teeth. Its mouth closed. The grenade exploded with a muffled boom. A lung-rattling sound ripped from the creature as it dove beneath the surface. A kernel of satisfaction spouted in my chest. But before it could grow anymore, Sandford screamed from nearby. More screams sounded. I peered around, brow furrowed. Sanford clawed at the goop on his head. Through the gloom, I could see that it was blackening and bubbling like boiling tar. Anyone with the goop on them was having the same reaction. They screamed in pain, trying to get the stuff off. Sanford's fingers melted as he scratched at his scalp. His exposed finger bones dug into the liquefying skin on his head, and as he tore away clumps of flesh, revealing bloody skull, he started to sink. I swam over to try to keep him above water. As I grabbed him, some of the sizzling liquid got onto my hand. Excruciating pain shot at my arm as the stuff melted through my skin. Through the water, Sanford continued to sink further and further. I knew that even if I could get him onto the boat, he wouldn't last long. So I let him go and swam for the boat as those around me in the water died screaming. Just as I reached the netting, I heard the helicopter approaching. I dodged around melting writhing bodies as I made my way to the nearest doorway. The smashed-down superstructure tilted precariously above me. I had to get onto all fours and crawl under twisted steel to get through the doorway. As I moved down the narrow stairwell, I ran into coasties coming up from their quarters or their various positions. The ship had a crew of 74. Maybe a quarter of them had been wiped out when the creature attacked, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it came back. My grenade had only bloodied its nose, so to speak. I doubted it was enough to scare it off. What's happening? One young man shouted at me as we moved past each other on the stairs. I thought about telling him not to go up there, but I knew he wouldn't listen to me. We're under attack. Don't touch the sludge and wear gloves if you're going to help the others. The man paused, trying to comprehend my words. I didn't know if gloves would help at all, or even how long the effect would last. Everyone had been fined before the grenade detonated. I figured the sludge was some kind of defense mechanism. When the creature got hurt, the goop turned to acid. At least I didn't have to wonder if the damn thing was anomalous anymore. I left the man standing in the cramped stairwell. Several more coasties jammed up behind him as they went above to see what was going on. Some were bloodied and bruised from being thrown around during the attack. It was vastly preferable to the alternative. A quarter-sized wound oozed blood from my right palm. The stuff seemed to have run its course. It didn't appear as if the wound was getting deeper, but it was hard to tell thanks to the blood. Moving the hand was an exercise in excruciation. Gritting my teeth, I made a fist and continued down toward the magazine, where all the ship's ordnance and ammo was stored. Through my adrenaline-confused haze, I remembered seeing Chaska climbing the net out of the water before the creature surfaced. But I couldn't recall if he had any of the sludge on him. I also couldn't recall if he'd been one of the melting bodies on deck. There had been several, their skin sloughing off into steaming heaps. I might not have even recognized him if I'd looked right at him. It was chaos below decks as the surviving officers tried to deal with the aftermath of an attack that none of them had trained for. By the time I reached the magazine, I had caught enough snippets of shouted conversations and commands to be worried. The ship was taking on water, and if they didn't get the leaks fixed and the water pumped out, the whole thing would sink. There was no way the cutter could take another hit, but I knew that at any moment, the creature could teleport again, appearing in the sky over the ship. Maybe it can't do it when it's hurt, a hopeful voice in my head said. I wasn't betting on it. As I reached the door to the magazine, I found two coasties unconscious on the floor. The heavy door was open a crack, but not enough for me to see inside. I looked at the dead guards and couldn't prevent a grim smile from coming to my face as I reached out and pulled the door open. Chaska spun around at the sound of the groaning hinges, relaxing as soon as he saw me. He glanced at the two unconscious guards. They wouldn't let me in. I told them I didn't have time for their bullshit. I entered the small, windowless room. Shelves and specialized lockers lined the walls, all filled with ammo and flares. In the middle of the floor, strapped to eye bolts to keep them from moving, were two black waterproof crates that my team had brought on board. One of them was long and rectangular, the other one roughly cube-shaped. Shaska had both of them opened and was reaching into the cube-shaped crate for one of the two rockets inside. He'd already gotten one of the launchers from the long crate. It sat at his feet on his left. As I stopped next to him, I noticed his left arm was badly injured. Jesus, I said, looking at the wound, which stretched from his shoulder all the way down to his elbow. Although he'd hastily wrapped it with the piece of his right sleeve, it was still bleeding freely. I thought it was deep enough that I could probably see bone if not for all the blood. You got some of that shit on you, Jaska didn't answer. He lifted the device out of the foam insert and looked at it. It looked a lot like a standard RPG-7 rocket, but a little bulkier and with a complex collar around the base at the explosive head. A Scranton reality rocket. The collar was equipped with technology that, when triggered, would send out a burst of energy that negated any anomalous powers in a 10-meter radius. The idea was that the collar would weaken whatever anomalous creature it was fired at, and the explosive rocket would either kill or incapacitate the anomaly. That was the idea. I'd never seen it in action. The guys in the anomalous weapons development division said it worked, but I didn't trust anything that hadn't been tested in the field. I took the rocket from Chaska, loaded it into the launcher, and handed the whole thing to him. Then I repeated the process with the second one, hanging on to it. We turned and raced back up to the deck. When we were still two floors down, the creature attacked again. The ship lurched under our feet, sending us crashing into the metal wall on our left. Chaska cried out in pain as he fell to the floor, leaving a large smudge of blood on the wall from his arm. As the ship rocked from the creature's impact, I helped him to his feet. Our launchers in hand, we continued the journey upward. The hit this time hadn't been so bad. It felt as if the creature had rammed the ship from the water instead of falling on it from the sky. But as we made our way up the stairs, I noticed that the vessel was listing steadily toward the front. The second attack had clearly done more damage than I thought. The ship was sinking. I scanned the ocean as soon as I stepped onto the deck, but I saw no sign of the creature. I could hear the helicopter on the other side of the ship. Gunfire sounded. Chaska and I ran around to the other side, jumping over mutilated bodies. dodging coasties rushing around as they did their jobs, or trying to organize some sort of defense. If the ship went down, we were all dead. The creature would pick us off at its leisure. Maybe the helicopter could save some of us, at least temporarily. We were far out at sea. There was no way the helicopter had enough fuel to reach dry land. We rounded the front of the crushed superstructure, bringing the helicopter into view. It hovered about 50 feet over the water. One of the machine gunners, leaning out a side door, fired at the creature below as it came in for another strike. Two dozen coasties were gathered at the railing, firing rifles and sidearms at the whale. A couple of them even had shoulder fire harpoon guns. I watched one of these men fire his harpoon, which arced through the air, trailing a thick rope. The spear sunk into the creature's flesh near its blowhole. The rope wasn't attached to anything, which was probably for the best. But the creature didn't seem affected by all the fire it was taking. It swam through the water, directly at the ship, without so much as a minor deviation. Chaska shouldered his launcher as the creature closed in. He worked the safety, flipped the trigger cover open, and fired it. The rocket blasted from the launcher and toward the creature's head, but it dove down at the last moment. As it did, the rocket struck the whale, exploding on impact. Bits of thick flesh erupted from the wound just before the tail disappeared into the dark water. A moment later, the whale struck the ship under the waterline. The deck whipped up throwing me over the railing along with Chaska and most of the coasties I managed to hang onto my launcher as I hit the water but it combined with all the other gear I still had on was too much I fought against it, swimming to the surface, trying to get back to the ship, but the latest hit had done major damage. The ship was sinking, going down fast enough to create a localized downward current that I could already feel, like a powerful riptide threatening to pull me into the depths. As I swam away, it quickly became clear that I couldn't stay above water much longer. I was sinking, my body approaching exhaustion from all the swimming I'd done earlier. My only chance was to ditch some of my gear. Knowing the launcher and its rocket were the most important things, I unclipped my rifle from its strap and let it sink. I tossed the spare magazines, my flashlight, my one remaining grenade, and my knife, all the while fighting to stay near the surface. Whenever my head ducked under the water, which was far too often, I kept my eyes open, peering around for any sign of the creature. If we were lucky, Chaska's rocket had done some serious damage to the thing, and it was retreating. A raft of hope began to inflate inside me when I didn't see the creature anywhere. Never mind that it was impossible to see more than 20 feet in the dark, murky water. The cutter had life rafts and smaller boats, like the one they had used to pull the woman out of the water earlier. Then there was the helicopter, whose downdraft battered the surface of the ocean. The machine gunners had stopped firing, afraid of hitting those of us in the water. Now, the aircraft hovered overhead. I could make out one of the coasties on board, readying a rescue line. If we were lucky, the creature would leave us alone. If we were lucky, the life rafts or the helicopter would save a select few of us from drowning. If we were lucky, another ship would come to the rescue. too many ifs. The creature broke the surface off to my left, its mouth opening, lower jaw splitting as it swept three coasties into its toothy maw. I pulled the launcher onto my shoulder, kicking my legs as hard as I could, trying to get the weapon out of the water. Its weight shifted as water poured from its rear, making me realize it might not work now that it was wet. It was a moot point. Its weight pushed me down, and more water rushed into the tube. It wasn't going to work. The thing would likely blow up in my hands if I tried to fire it with water in the tube. As the creature's lower jaw snapped closed, cleaving limbs from bodies, I peered around for Chaska, thinking he might be able to help me. I didn't see him in the turbulent sea. The waves created by the sinking ship and the helicopter and the creature all made it even harder to stay above the surface. The whale dove back under, heading toward me, still holding on to what little hope I had left. The launcher I tried to kick out of its way. It was moving noticeably slower now, but still faster than me. A small but insistent voice in my head told me to ditch the launcher, to worry about my own survival above everyone else's. In my panic, I thought that was a pretty good idea. But just as I was about to let go of the weapon, a memory popped into my head. A memory of that dead teenage girl in the car after the accident. As if the memory had triggered some autonomic process. My injured right hand redoubled its grip on the launcher. The pain caused me to clench my jaw, which helped my newfound sense of determination. I could see the creature approaching, feeling its strange, numerous eyes fixed on me. Another memory, clear as day, surfaced in my mind. A training day, months ago, when the anomalous weapons development guys went over the Scranton reality rockets with us. They told us that you could use the rockets by themselves, without a launcher. You just had to arm them correctly and get the hell away before they exploded. The whale closed the distance, its mouth opening. I took a deep breath, ducked into the water, and kicked my legs, doing a slow forward flip just under the surface. I twisted, shoving the back end of the launcher toward the massive teeth at the side of the creature's mouth as it moved to bite me. It clamped down on the metal, continuing to swim, yanking me through the water as I clutched the launcher. I worked the rocket out, twisting it with my right hand while clinging to the launcher with the other. With the rocket in one hand, I looked through the water at the creature's mouth, thinking I could arm the device and shove it in between its teeth. Before I could attempt this, the creature opened its mouth, as if realizing it hadn't bitten a person, but a piece of metal instead. Since it was still swimming, I traveled along the side of its body. I let the useless launcher go and groped for a handhold along its flank. My hand found something and gripped it. A rope? Suddenly, I was moving through the water again, pressed against the whale's side. My lungs started to burn. I needed air. Shoving the rocket between my vest and chest, I gripped the rope with both hands, only then remembering the coastie who had shot the creature with a shoulder-fired harpoon. I pulled myself up the rope, using my feet against the whale's tough skin to help me along. Finally breaking the surface, I inhaled deeply. The creature opened its mouth again, pulling more frantic coasties inside, crunching and killing them. The harpoon was stuck forward near the blowhole. The rope was taut as I pulled myself along. Since the creature's back was above the water, I managed to stand up as I worked my way forward, gripping the line with both hands. A strange realization came to mind. A flash of the excitement I had felt on that day so long ago, before the tragedy of the accident. I couldn't help but grimace as I realized I was surfing on the back of this whale creature. One of the eyes perched at the end of a stubby stalk, swiveled around and stared at me. I clenched my jaw in determination again as the whale dove into the water. I twisted the rope around my left forearm and sucked in a deep breath before it pulled me underwater. It dove straight down, and I knew it meant to either drown me or cause my lungs to collapse under pressure, whichever came first. With the last of the light from above, I saw I was only ten feet from the blowhole. I dragged myself forward, the pain in my sinus cavities and ears growing with each whip of the whale's injured tail. I knew that, were it not for Chaska's shot, I would probably be dead already. But the injured creature was slower than before, and if it could teleport itself like it had before, it surely would have by now. My lungs began to shriek for air as I reached the blowhole and pulled the rocket from where I tucked it between my chest and the vest. Even though I couldn't see, it wasn't too hard to arm the rocket. I pressed a button and flipped a switch on the Scranton collar. Then I pulled a small metal panel from the side of the rocket, exposing a metal pin similar to one on a grenade. A secondary detonation system, separate from the one activated during the firing of the rocket. I pulled the pin and shoved the device down into the creature's 12-inch wide blowhole as far as my arm would reach. The device was just long enough for me to jam it sideways against the walls of the creature's equivalent of a nostril. I hoped this would be enough to prevent the thing from blowing it out. Retracting my hand, I unwrapped the rope from around my left arm and pushed off the creature, heading for the surface without thinking I would actually make it. It was too far, and the last of my oxygen was currently being used. I tried to fight the panic, to accept what was to come, but it was no use. A concussive whoop swept through the darkness from below as the device exploded. I couldn't see whether it had detonated inside the creature or not, but I was beyond caring. The panic was too great, and a bright light from above seemed to be beckoning me to the afterlife. I'd heard drowning was peaceful, but it seemed like the exact opposite. The need for air tormented me. I looked up at the growing light, looking for solace and finding none. I tried to focus on what I'd done. Instead of ditching the launcher and looking out for myself, I had at least tried to kill the beast. I had at least tried to give the few remaining survivors a chance. Did that make up for causing an accident so many years ago? An accident that took an innocent girl's life? I didn't think so, but it was something. The light grew brighter, blindingly so. I thought I might feel warmth or contentment, but I felt neither. Just crushing panic. I could no longer resist my spasming lungs. I had to try to breathe, even though it meant inhaling water. I opened my mouth and felt something shoved inside. I inhaled, and miraculous air entered my lungs. I hand gripped under my right shoulder and pulled me up, beyond the light, allowing me to see Chaska's face. Although my panic was subsiding, I still thought he was an angel, come to escort me to the afterlife. But that fallacy only lasted as long as it took me to take another breath, thanks to the oxygen tank strapped to Chaska's back. He wore goggles and the spotlight he'd used to find me now dangled from its strap down by his left hip. As he pulled me toward the surface, he took the regulator from my mouth, breathed, and then gave it back. We did this several more times as we swam up, moving slowly to avoid the bends. When we broke the surface, several coasties and an orange raft with an outboard motor maneuvered over and helped us aboard. Shaska smiled at me as he removed the tank from his back, only wincing a little as he jostled his still-bleeding wound. You got it. I shook my head. I don't know. You did, he said. I saw it. At the very edge of the light. I saw the cloud of blood. You fucking got it. The Coasties congratulated me. I flopped against the inflated side of the raft, still breathing heavily. That's the last goddamn time I go surfing. The others in the raft simply looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Not even Chaska knew what the hell I was talking about. It didn't matter. I damn well meant it. SCP-7207 is a highly aggressive cetacean organism, measuring approximately 98 feet. It is theorized to have originally belonged either to the sperm whale or killer whale genus, while possible ties to a long, extinct species of toothed whale. But it has since undergone rapid anomalous mutation, which has rendered it unrecognizable. The creature is capable of rapid underwater movement and has been shown to be highly resistant to physical damage caused by harpoons, bullets, and torpedoes. Its primary anomalous power is its ability of spontaneous temporal relocation, which has made it extremely difficult for Foundation agents to track and contain. While one organism has been confirmed eliminated, there have since been reports indicating that another instance is still in the wild. The use of Scranton reality rockets has proven effective in eliminating at least one instance. The Anomalous Weapons Development Division is currently in the process of creating Scranton reality torpedoes for use against these and other oceanic anomalies.