Author's Note:
Yeah, I keep making promises about being more active and writing more, and then life just gets in the way. But here's the next chapter for this story. Enjoy!
As the sun began to set, the twenty-one survivors met the coming night with a sense of dread. The shark, Fang, was still out there, probably circling the ship, waiting for the right moment to strike.
They had dumped what was left of the bodies of Blompkins and Blainley overboard to lessen the chances of Fang coming back onto the deck. It probably wasn't going to do any good, but it was better than nothing. Plus, no one really wanted to look at their corpses anymore.
Trent sat on one of the lounge couches, silently fingering the gun that Chef had given him. It was a sleek, black pistol. Light, but just as deadly as any other gun. He knew that it would be useless against Fang. But at least it was something.
He sighed, standing up. Most of the others were gathered in small groups around the lounge, talking in low voices. He could feel the worry and fear everyone was emanating. Some of them were doing their best to hide it—the tougher ones, like Heather, Alejandro, Duncan, and Leshawna. Some of them were clearly terrified.
And Gwen…
Trent glanced to where Gwen was currently passed out on the arm of the couch next to him. She was one of the few people that seemed to actually be able to sleep at the moment, despite the circumstances.
To be honest, he was a little surprised that she could sleep. She had been trying to warn them all about Fang for days. Everyone had ignored her. And now it was going to cost them.
Trent sighed, getting to his feet. He needed to get some air. The others wouldn't miss him; there were plenty of guns down there to put up some sort of resistance if the shark showed up.
He stepped outside and walked to the railing, resting his hands on it and looking out at the ocean. The waves lapped against the ship gently. There was only a slight breeze in the air, making it cool but not terribly cold.
He sighed, gazing down at the cold, black abyss of the ocean. The shark could be anywhere down there, just waiting to strike.
It occurred to Trent right then and there that there was a very good chance that he might die out here, stranded in the middle of the ocean. Murdered by a mutant shark—not the way he wanted to go. But this was looking to be more and more likely. Rescue was still well over a day away. The chances of them surviving that long were slim. Especially if the shark was as intelligent as the mayor claimed it was.
"Shouldn't be up here, kid."
Trent jumped, startled at Chef's silent approach, nearly dropping the gun into the ocean. "Oh! I, uh—"
Chef waved his apologies off. "I get it. You're not soldiers; you're children. None of you signed up for this." He joined Trent at the railing, looking out at the dark horizon.
"I won't lie to you, kid; a lot more of your friends are going to die," he admitted. "But I'm going to do what I can to make sure as many of you survive that I can."
Trent slowly turned his head to face Chef. "Why do you care so much?"
The big man looked back at him. "That supposed to mean something?"
"No—I mean—you've just never seemed like the type of guy that would really care about saving, well, anyone except yourself."
Chef narrowed his eyes. "Do I seem that shallow to you, boy?" he growled in a low voice.
Trent backed up slightly. "I—uh—"
Chef just bowed his head. "I may seem like a hardened man, boy, and you'd be right on that. But a soldier always cares for his fellow soldiers, no matter how inexperienced they may be. And I won't make the same mistakes I did last time."
Trent blinked. "Last time?"
Chef sighed. "I was a soldier once. A damn good one too. Me and my squad—we were the best. We got sent into suicidal situations and did the jobs no one else could. Until the day everything changed."
Chef turned his gaze back to the ocean. "We were teamed up with a few other squads. Our target was a drug lord that was camped out in some godforsaken jungle. It was supposed to be a simple task—but the moment that mission began, we were in way over our heads.
"The drug lord had positioned his men in the trees. Set up booby traps all over the place. Once we had descended into the tree line, they were all over us. We couldn't walk ten paces without getting shot at or blown up by some hidden explosive or strung up by traps so primitive it was embarrassing to be caught in one."
His fingers tightened on the railing. "Twenty-five of us went into the jungle that day. Only five of us came back."
Trent's breath caught in his throat as Chef finished his story. "After that, I left. I had lost everything that day. I didn't want to have to see so many good men and women die because of what I did. I approved of the joint operation. I should've taken more time to look at the intel we had. If I had planned a better approach to it, maybe those soldiers would still be alive today."
Chef finally turned back to Trent. "So now you know. I'm not going to let the mistakes of my past lead to more death. So one way or another, I'm going to get as many of you as possible off this boat alive—count on that."
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Lindsay?" Tyler called from the bedroom while Lindsay fixed her hair in the bathroom.
"Come on, Taylor, it won't be bad," Lindsay assured him.
"But—do we really want to do this? I mean, if Chef is right, then we'll make it out of here in a few days. And then we'll have plenty of time to do it."
"Relax, Tyson," Lindsay told him, finishing with her hair. "Besides, you've always been a little curious about what it's like. Now's a perfect time."
"Well, all right, but—" Tyler's voice was cut off by a loud chomping sound.
"Tyler?" Lindsay asked, going to open the door. "Tyler, are you still there?"
She opened it and came face to face with a large, toothily grinning shark with legs. Its teeth were stained with fresh blood.
Lindsay's eyes widened. "T-Tyler?"
A piercing scream rang out from below.
Trent leaped up in alarm. "Lindsay!" He bolted down the stairs, Chef hot on his heels. At the bottom, the other teens had all backed away from where the scream had come from, which happened to be Lindsay's room.
Except for Duncan. The delinquent had made it to the door and had flung it open, gun raised. "Damnit!" he swore. Trent and Chef made it behind him, and the former nearly retched at what he saw.
Pieces of flesh were everywhere, and the room was soaked with blood. What was left of Lindsay's mangled corpse was lying on the ground. It appeared to have been half eaten. And there was a large hole in the wall. A hole big enough for a shark to squeeze through.
Chef swore. "Follow me!" He entered the room and disappeared through the hole. Trent went after him, with Duncan following close behind. As he chased him, Trent briefly noticed a single bloody shoe lying on the ground, the foot still stuck inside. A shoe, he realized with dread, that belonged to Tyler.
He shook his head free of those thoughts as he ran after Chef. The hole in the wall had led into the next room, and a series of holes seemed to pierce through all the rooms following it.
"How strong is this thing?" he asked aloud.
"Strong enough to break through metal, obviously," Duncan replied.
The trio of Chef, Trent, and Duncan emerged through the last hole and found themselves in a narrow corridor. The shark was nowhere to be seen.
Chef swore again. "Lost him."
"He could be anywhere," Trent realized. "Anywhere on the ship. Just waiting for the time to strike."
A loud scratching sound came from nearby. Chef whipped his rifle around to face the pile of crates that was in the corner.
"The sh—" Trent started, but Chef clapped a hand over his mouth. He gave him a warning look to be quiet before removing his hand and slowly creeping over to the crates. Duncan shrugged before following.
When he was close enough, Chef put one hand on the top of the crate while aiming with his rifle with the other. He glanced back at Trent and Duncan, who also raised their own weapons, aiming it at the crate.
Chef nodded, hesitated briefly, and then yanked the crate's lid off before spilling the contents down on the ground in front of him. Out rolled a skinny boy with red hair and glasses.
Trent's eyes widened with shock.
"Harold?!"
Alive: Alejandro, Bridgette, Chef Hatchet, Chris McLean, Cody, Courtney, DJ, Duncan, Eva, Fang, Geoff, Gwen, Harold, Heather, Izzy, Justin, Leshawna, Noah, Owen, Sierra, Trent
Dead: Katie, Sadie, Blaineley, Beth, Tyler, Lindsay
And so we lose another two. I know Lindsay is apparently a fan favorite character, so I might be breaking some hearts with her death. But hey-did you really expect her or Tyler to survive?
And I suppose everyone probably guessed it-Harold's not dead! But will he survive till the end?
Also, I hope you all enjoyed my take on the Chef's famous "25 of us went into the jungle" story. I just knew I had to do something with that. It's such a classic Chef thing that I had to do it.
I can tell you right now that, based on my calculations, there should be about six more chapters after this one before this story is finished. And boy, it's going to be a wild ride right till the end. Not as many people will die as you might think-and people that you may think will survive might just wind up in Fang's stomach.
But anywho, that's all from me. Make sure to hit that favorite/follow button to stay informed on future updates, and don't forget to leave a review to let me know how I'm doing. Until next time, this is Guest 1138, reminding you to go out and enjoy winter. Ciao!