I knew it was early, but I’d be able to get to James by about nine o’clock if I left at that time. Maybe a little later if I decided to get a proper breakfast. I never ended up stopping once I figured out that I’d be stuck in the ungodly amount of traffic flooding into Miami for the work day. It was going to be bad enough by the time was supposed to be going through there, so I figured I’d get something at a fast food joint on my way through West Palm right before I got to James’s tiny suburban abode.

When I pulled up to the house, I saw that there was a distinct set of tire tracks that drove onto the lawn, then nearly backed into the garage before peeling back out onto the road. I slowly got out of my car and crept up to the house. I clued into the door being slightly ajar, which was incredibly unlike James.

Yes, I barely knew him, but he definitely wouldn’t just want some random fucker strolling up to his house and seeing his wall covered in 9/11 hoax theories.

When I opened the door, I saw a pool of blood covering the living room floor. There was no trail of drops or smears, there was just a pool of blood. I fully expected for a closet door to be pushed open by a body wrapped in plastic falling to the floor, but this never happened. It was silent in the house the entire time except for one small clack of what sounded like a claw.

I didn’t bother searching for the source of the noise as the massive sensation of dread that has washed over me at that abandoned house came over me again.

Before I backed out of the driveway, I noticed the blinds in the kitchen window shuffling around. I floored it like a madman down until I was through Boca Raton and back on interstate 75 heading back to Naples.

I got back around noon and saw that Cat was down by the beach. When I went to see her, she was horrified; it didn’t take much searching to see why.

A metric shit ton of fish carcasses had begun to wash up along the shoreline. Scales and skin were embedded in some of the sand as the waves brought a froth of salt water and fish corpses that were already beginning to emit an awful stench. My neighbors had ventured down to their portion of beach as well to investigate the terrible sight.

“Holy Hell!” Marcia cried.

Bradley looked over at me and asked, “David, do you have any clue what could be causing this?”

“Unfortunately, I do,” I sighed.

“What could it be?” Cat asked.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with the USS Malibu. I don’t know if it’s the fuel on the boat or if the men were testing something chemically hazardous on board, but something went down when that boat sunk,” I explained.

“What makes you think that?” Bradley inquired.

“Cat said there’s been crazy algae blooms ever since the ship sank, so I’m guessing that there’s been an increase of marine deaths all over the place in the Gulf. We might be in for a real doozy,” I said.

Suddenly, a larger wave sent the large corpse of a blacktip shark crashing onto the shore only a few feet from Bradley and Marcia. Marcia squealed as the body smashed into the sand with the large wave that had brought it in. I then noticed some entrails and intestines spilling out of a rather large hole in the shark’s underbelly.

“Holy Christ,” Bradley said.

I looked out into the ocean and saw yet another shark carcass floating lifelessly in the murky waters, and then another close to it. Both of them had large gashes in their underbelly and entrails slithering out. Close to the shore, there was an octopus with three of its tentacles ripped off and it’s head was nearly split in half.

“Oh my God!” Cat gasped at the horrendous sight.

I quickly ushered her away from the graphic scene at the beach and back inside. In the chaos of the moment, I didn’t even register the new manilla folder on the kitchen table. Instead, I focused more on on the fact that Cat was freaking the fuck out over the fact that these animals weren’t just dying; they were being massacred.

“What do you think caused this?” I asked.

“I don’t know! I went to the Great Barrier Reef last year and I’ve seen great whites attack, but those attacks don’t look anything like this. I’ve never seen anything like this. Jesus Christ, I’ll have to talk to everyone about this. They’ll be shocked,” she insisted.

“I think you should. Whatever is going, it’s not good,” I agreed.

She glanced at the folder I had only just registered. “What’s that?” she asked.

I snatched the folder and looked at the contents. It was the USS McCoy’s crew, same condition of all the other photos. But, there was no circled face in this folder, all of the faces have a red “X” through them.

Next Chapter: Shoreline: Section 6